


Marital Mayhem

by genello



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Homesickness, Incorrect Dowsing Practices, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pseudoscience, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genello/pseuds/genello
Summary: Cornered by the Galra, Lance and Keith find shelter in a local temple. There's just one problem—the natives seem to think the two of them are engaged.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since i've written fanfic, but i wanted to write something fun! and Voltron is fun! so here we are. 
> 
> a big thank you to tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and SouthWesternDjinn! in addition to indulging my constant need to talk about Voltron, they've helped me edit and brainstorm and this fic would not be what it is without them <3

“What do you mean we’re lost?” Hunk asked, his brave face slipping.

“We’re not _lost_ , per se, just a bit… misplaced, as it happens,” answered Coran, his gloved hand smoothing out the edges of his mustache.

The castle’s occupants were all gathered on the bridge examining the galactic holographic map that, for all intents and purposes, was woefully incomplete. Whereas it had previously shown space to be just as impossibly big as they all knew it to be, it now revealed only a fraction of the galaxy. Worse, the fraction did not include their current location, as they were about a dozen hundred light years off the chart.

“Sendak's crystal inflicted more damage than we realized,” Allura said, frowning. “Most of the systems were able to recover, but it seems some of our intel was irretrievable.”

Coran nodded. “Yes, our navigation systems definitely got the worst of it.”

The bridge was dark and eerily empty without the pinpricks of light dotting the air. The paladins had become so used to the advanced technology that even Hunk no longer felt queasy as Coran spun through the stars, initially inducing a vague sense of vertigo in all of them as the dizzy universe leapt from one planet to the next. This dim stillness as they surveyed the few solar systems scarcely speckled overhead was unnerving. It was as if Sendak had spilled an entire mason jar of ink on the map, blotting out where they hoped to go and where they hoped to return.

“Okay, so this sounds bad—” Lance cut in, pausing to swallow a voice crack. “—but you’ve got a plan, right? Or some sort of silver lining? I mean, we can’t make it home if we don’t even know where we are.” His hands gestured at the lacking holograph in jerky motions. Shiro placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder and offered a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ve already got an idea. Pidge, if you would,” Shiro prompted, the hand on Lance's shoulder squeezing lightly.

Pidge nodded, pulling down the holograph and revealing the vast scape of stars their castle now faced. She brought attention to a lilac speck in the distance.

“We got lucky, guys. Based on brief observations, this planet seems to host a hub of intergalactic trade, like a market. The Galra are present, but given how distant from the Empire we are, it doesn’t seem to be a particularly high priority for them. With so few ships, they're probably just scouting and collecting info—same as us, really—so we should be able to purchase a map without too much trouble,” she concluded, adjusting her glasses.

“So who’s going?” Keith asked, arms crossed.

Allura smiled brightly, announcing, “We thought we would send you down in teams of two—think of it as a training exercise in diplomacy! A chance to gain insight on other cultures! As long as you avoid Galra attention, you should be fine.”

“Exactly,” said Shiro. “So we’ll send down two teams of two—Pidge and Hunk will form one team, and Keith and Lance will form the other.”

Hunk breathed a small _oh thank god_ before high-fiving Pidge, the two sharing broad grins. Keith and Lance, on the other hand, simply made eye contact before mutually shrugging shoulders and looking away. They had managed to work together before, so presumably they could do so again. Presumably. Lance scratched his cheek absently. The two of them got along much better—their teamwork had improved significantly since the Balmera mission, and Lance was more than a little grateful to Keith for freeing him from the airlock. Still, while their relationship seemed to be improving, it seemed… not quite rocky, but gravelly. Unsettled.

“All right, paladins! Our ETA is in five hours! So get prepped and we’ll see you back here at thirteen hundred sharp!” Coran called, clapping his hands for emphasis. The four younger members proceeded to scatter while the other three strategized plan B should something go disastrously wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

“Remind me _why_ we had to take your lion?” Lance muttered, kicking at empty air in the cockpit.

“I’m the better pilot,” said Keith simply. “Stop sulking already—we’re almost there.” The Red Lion swerved as it entered the atmosphere, heading just outside the outskirts of the hub, not a single Galra soldier in sight.

Gazing out the window, Lance took in mostly trees during their descent. The planet wasn’t an unusual shade of light purple because of dirt or technology or atmosphere—it was simply the vegetation, which mostly consisted of trees and some kind of spongy clover. The trunks were thin and grew close together, their bark alternating streaks of maroon and navy before puffs of billowing lavender created the canopy high above. This made it a little difficult for Keith to find a good landing spot, but if Pidge had already touched down, he would figure something out, too.

Keith’s version of figuring something out may or may not have taken out a couple or a couple dozen trees in the process.

The important thing was that they landed far enough from the hub to attract attention with the lion.

Lance stretched and breathed in deeply as they exited the robotic space cat, his jacket riding up slightly. Keith followed shortly after, sans the stretching. Fortunately, Coran and Allura had been able to identify the atmosphere as relatively safe for their lungs. Only after several days would it begin to impact their respiratory system, allowing the paladins to wander about in casual clothing as opposed to their iconic spacesuits. Ideally, this would prevent the Galra from recognizing them on sight.

The two tugged some violet underbrush in front of the lion to make it a little less visible, but they called it quits when Hunk checked in with their wrist communicators to tell them he and Pidge were just about to enter the marketplace. The message was followed by several emojis Keith didn’t bother to decipher. Lance swiftly sent several back. For several solid minutes, their wrists pinged incessantly as emojis flooded the group's communicators. They would have continued, but Pidge interrupted, for which Keith was severely grateful.

“Keith, man, you can’t tell me you don’t appreciate the glorious intricacies of communication through mere emojis—it’s an art form!”

“Looks more like digital hieroglyphs.”

“Digital hiero—dude, are we even from the same generation? ‘Cause that sounds like my dad trying to be smart but not really understanding what he’s talking about which, as you’ll note, I can see through lickety-split. Did you even have a cell phone before we got our Altean tech? ‘Cause I mean, I know this shit is weird, but Pidge reprogrammed it for our purposes pretty well. Hunk and I were even figuring out some whole new emojis specific to us—like the lions! And our bayards! I can show you later if you want—I mean, it might seem a bit advanced for a beginner who didn’t even have a cell phone, but since you _were_ the top of our class, you gotta have some smarts, yeah? I mean, that was before you got kicked out for, what was it, bad behavior? What did you even do?”

There was a long pause while Lance looked expectantly at Keith, who hadn’t even turned his head. Lance raised a questioning eyebrow. Honestly, this was something he and the other teens had been wondering for quite a while, and he had five shots of nunvill riding on not playing nice with others. Ears perked, Lance leaned a little closer.

His ears were rewarded with an aggravating silence as their feet plodded through clovers. Keith hadn’t said a word, which was kind of weird in itself when Lance got to talking. If there was anything he was good at, it was getting attention, and even if Keith never did what he expected, he usually responded in some way. It was almost as if he wasn’t… even listening…

Lance caught sight of a thin wire swinging from under Keith’s dark hair into his red and white jacket. His eye twitched in irritation before he swung his arm to snag the cord and swipe the earbud.

“Hey!” Keith yelled, reaching after it. Lance held the earbud high in a taunt.

“No, man! I wanna hear whatever is so much better than my sparkling drops of wisdom! I went as far as to offer some of the finest pearls of education this side of the galaxy, and you ignore it for what? _This_?”

As Lance inserted the earbud, he stopped. Eyes wide, a smile that was almost too genuine to be a smirk stretched across his cheeks.

“Keith.”

A huff. “What, Lance.”

Lance’s grin grew even wider.

“Keith. You’re listening to Queen.”

Keith groaned. “Yes, Lance, I’m listening to Queen. Do you have something against Freddie Mercury?”

“Dude, no one has anything against Freddie Mercury, may he rock in peace, but Keith. _Keith_. I mean, it all makes sense now—the mullet and everything—but I never guessed—dude. Dude. This isn’t just Queen. This is _the_ _Flash Gordon theme song_.”

Keith replied (absolutely without a trace of a pout), “Yeah, well, you recognized it, so it’s not like I’m the only one.”

Lance laughed. “No, man, you’re right! I love me some Queen, but I just never would’ve guessed you liked music that wasn’t, I dunno, Linkin Park. Not gonna lie, I was totally expecting some My Chemical Romance to drown my eardrums. Or maybe Good Charlotte or Papa Roach, even. None of which is bad! You just fit the type, you know?”

“No, I don’t know!” Keith grumbled, retrieving his earbud.

Still grinning, Lance said, “Keith, c’mon, I didn’t mean it like that, It’s just _Flash Gordon_! Oh my god, do you have ‘Bicycle Race’ on there? I freakin’ love that one—Keith! Don’t walk so fast! KEITH! C’mon—I don’t have any of my music with me! Let’s share! Keeeeeeeith!”

 

* * *

 

 

The intergalactic marketplace turned out to be almost exactly what numerous sci-fi cinema predicted, but with a few more trees. Labyrinthine lines of booths snaked throughout the port city while the skinny trunks sprouted between every few stalls in tiny groves, their lilac foliage offering patches of much-needed shade from the twin suns. Aliens of all heights and colors milled around, peeking to see what merchants had to offer. A litany of “staring is rude” streamed between Lance’s ears, but even so, several lifeforms passed by that his eyes struggled to comprehend.

Keith drew close to Lance as they made their way through. “Stick close,” he murmured, his hair brushing Lance’s neck as he grabbed the slightly taller pilot’s wrist. Lance nearly started at the tickling sensation—something akin to a small frog leaping up his throat—but he swallowed it down as he let Keith take the lead.

Nearly an hour had passed, but no luck. Pidge and Hunk had messaged them that they found the tech corner of the market, but they had yet to find anything useful for space travel. All the same, it would likely be a while before they extracted themselves from the area; Pidge would tear Hunk away from ogling some foreign piece of equipment only to fall victim to curiosity herself. Leaving would be a process.

Meanwhile, Keith had led them to the domestic goods section where they discovered the finest instruments of intergalactic cookware. (Apparently wooden spoons were all the rage.)

Lance took the lead next, and his impeccable intuition brought them to the jewelry section. Signs for sales and special deals were everywhere. Foot traffic was heavier here, and the paladins discovered the hard way that body odor was never good no matter the species. An especially sour encounter was when they found themselves stuck behind a tall alien with several more arms and, accordingly, several more pits. Keith visibly paled while Lance debated the fine line between moldy bologna and an overabundance in coffee sweat—probably Folgers, by his reckoning.

Keith's face didn't regain much color.

Clearly needing a literal breather, Lance pulled the other pilot into a deserted stall full of crystals and other winking gems for them to escape the crowded stench.

It was dim inside the stall with small spotlights strategically arranged. The blue tent provided a calm backdrop for the jewels as they twinkled in the lights like tiny stars. Other than the two humans, nothing occupied the space but rows of counters and hanging wires for rings, pendants, and brooches and the like lined up along the cloth walls. Keith breathed in the odor-free air gratefully, even if it was a bit stagnant.

“Y’know, Keith,” Lance began, peering at a small crystal orb. “I have no doubt there’s a map around here somewhere. No doubt at all. The question is if we can actually find it.”

Keith hummed in response. His eye was caught by several rows of gleaming rings, only a few of which actually looked human-sized.

“Oh my, if you’re seeking something, you’re in the right place,” said the shopkeeper as she approached them. She was short, only half their height, but her arms were long and flat with eight fingers protruding from each square palm. Her eyes reminded Lance of a chameleon with how far apart they were, and they appeared to move separately from one another. Regardless, she seemed perfectly focused on the two of them and their predicament, which was very kind of her, but Lance didn’t see much use in asking for directions. She probably knew her corner of the market very well, but this place was huge—no way could she tell them which direction to go. (And their ability to follow said directions was even less likely, if he was honest.)

“We’re just browsing,” Lance answered, hoping to deter her.

“But whatever it is you seek, I can help,” she said with a wink. She maneuvered around Keith to a counter where she brought out a violet pendant dangling from a thin silver chain. “Are either of you familiar with the sacred art of dowsing?”

Keith’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I’ve tried it! ...mixed results, though,” he said, hand rising to rub the back of his neck. Something about the sheepish action struck Lance as endearing, but he dismissed the thought as quick as it came.

When she turned expectantly to him, Lance shrugged. “I’ve heard of it. Never tried it, but I thought it was just about looking for water. Something about attuning to magnetic fields and… something…”

“Something like that,” the shopkeeper chuckled. “Different wands work better for different things. Think of this crystal as such a wand, like a pendulum. Specifically, this one leads you to opportunities—opportunities for what your heart desires most.”

Lance brought a fist down to the flat of his palm. “Oh! Like Captain Jack’s compass! Kind of! No?”

Keith blinked, then turned to the shopkeeper. “I have no idea what he’s going on about, but how much for the crystal?”

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen _Pirates of the Caribbean_.”

“Lance, I lived alone in the middle of the desert. My cultural exposure was kind of limited,” Keith answered, staring at the crystal in his hand.

Lance sighed. “I can’t believe you actually paid for that. What if we find the map but don’t have the funds? What then?”

Wrapping the chain around his hand and holding his palm flat to let the crystal hang, he replied, “This will lead us to the right opportunities. It won’t bring us to something that’s too expensive. And if it is expensive, we’ll find a way around it.”

Lance sputtered, “Oy! That sounds like stealing! No way are we doing that!”

Keith sneered, “I didn’t say we would. Just have a little faith, will you? This won’t work otherwise.”

“Fine, fine…” Lance shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. They had found a nook out of the way of most of the traffic for Keith to try his dowsing. The shopkeeper had assured the pilots that the crystal would do most of the work for them—they just had to try. Keith knelt on the ground and drew a circle in the loose dirt. Lance watched as he drew a few symbols at opposing sides of the circle before holding the crystal over the center, letting it sway as it willed.

“Hey, come here,” Keith said, tugging at Lance’s jeans with his free hand.

“What,” Lance grunted, crouching down next to him, his knee jutting against Keith’s thigh.

“You, too. Give me your hand.”

Lance gave Keith the flattest look he could muster.

Keith's look was flatter.

Sighing, Lance caved and placed his hand over top Keith’s.

There was a moment of near-silence as the bustle of the market faded, leaving the two of them in their own bubble where all Lance could feel was the slight strain of his calves and the warmth of the hand beneath his. Keith’s fingerless glove felt worn, even on the back of the hand. It was thin, and he could feel each slight shift underneath.

“Try thinking about the map, about going home,” Keith supplied.

Lance flushed a tiny bit in embarrassment. Was his homesickness that obvious? Still, he took the advice and closed his eyes, slowly pulling up images as the details came into focus. He thought about passing the moon as they came into Earth's orbit, the planet welcoming their return. He thought about the barracks at the Garrison and the stale cafeteria food strangely less tasty than Coran's space goo. He thought about the heat of the beach and the drops of salt in the air, the voices of family and friends battling the sound of the steady tide. His throat tightened, squeezing his breath as he tried not to think about how they were always there for him and they still were—but he was gone.

A small gasp from Keith brought him to open his eyes and see the crystal glowing ever so slightly and leaning pointedly to one direction over the circle.

Clearing his throat of emotion, Lance realized belatedly how his grip had tightened over Keith's fist. Flushing a few shades redder, he quickly pulled away, asking, “S-so wait—you understand what that means, right? ‘Cause I would just guess walking in that direction, but uh... there’s a wall there.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Keith replied, a small excited smile stealing across his features as he tucked the crystal in a pocket and kicked apart the dirt circle. “C’mon, this way.”

Keith reached for his hand, and Lance tried to ignore the warmth the ease of the motion brought him.

 

* * *

 

 

“I think we might actually be getting close,” Hunk chimed in. “I swear we’re coming across tourist attractions here. Or, well, we can’t really see much touristy stuff, but there’s a bunch of food vendors and that’s gotta be positive, right?”

“Let’s hope so, but don’t get too side-tracked,” Keith warned.

“And don’t eat something weird and get sick!” Lance reprimanded.

“Dude, believe it or not, I’m following Pidge.”

“All I know,” Pidge interjected in a grave tone, “is that if I find deep fried Oreos, I’m getting ten. Or deep fried Snickers. Or deep fried pickles. Or deep fried sweet potatoes. Or—”

“I keep forgetting you’re from the Midwest,” Hunk said, a grimace evident in his voice.

Checking their location, Keith and Lance saw their paths were probably going to converge sooner rather than later. Having started from opposite ends of the market, it was no surprise the two teams had been slowly approaching each other as the day went on.

“Just let me know if you find any garlic knots,” Lance remarked.

“Dude, we all know the best vendor food is funnel cakes—don’t even play,” argued Hunk. “Their versatility is unparalleled.”

“Can we just get back to the plan?” strained Keith, before adding, “—and cheese curds have 'em all beat.”

“Keith, are you from _Wisconsin_?” Pidge inquired in an entirely accusatory tone.

Hunk groaned. “Oh my god, Pidge, you can't be serio—“

“All right, great talk, guys! We'll be in touch,” said Lance, effectively ending the conversation.

The paladins had paused periodically to perform the dowsing and check their direction. So far, so good. Keith seemed pleased with the consistency in the crystal's directions as they wove through sporting goods, rugs, and various musical instruments. Lance had half a mind to suggest the crystal was weighted like a loaded die, but between the light in Keith's eyes after every dowsing and the steady warmth in his hand as they clambered through the market, he found the suggestion died in his throat with a dry gulp.

“ _Quiznak!_ ” Keith hissed, sharply tugging Lance to the side, their shoulders banging together. Regaining his balance (and barely refraining from cussing Keith out), Lance followed his teammate's eyes across the crowded intersection where roughly fifty feet away stood five Galra soldiers, none of them drones. The Galra picked at random items in the vicinity while their commanding officer haggled with an obstinate merchant who appeared unfazed by the presence of the Empire.

Keith pulled out his bayard.

“Whoa whoa whoa—we're not here to fight! How about you check the dowsing and I'll contact Pidge and Hunk to check their location,” Lance suggested, resting his hand on Keith's armed fist. “If they're nearby, we can warn them in advance and make a plan from there. We're not here to fight.”

Keith paused, meeting Lance's blue eyes. “You're right,” he mumbled before holstering his bayard and pulling out the crystal.

Lance grinned. It wasn't often Keith offered any sort of approval, so he'd gladly take it. Pulling his wrist up, he tried to call them.

This first step was where his Keith-approved plan went wrong.

Further down the stalls, maybe eighty feet away, they suddenly heard an abrupt musical number blaring—a true classic, “Blue” by Eiffel 65—shortly followed by a loud squawking as Pidge visibly jumped almost four feet in the air, landing squarely on Hunk's shoulders.

Lance's jaw dropped. “ _That's_ my ringtone?!”

“Save the complaint for later—they've got company!” Keith replied as he hastily stowed away the crystal.

Everyone in the area, the Galra included, turned to stare in incredulity. It took Hunk a few moments to fumble with the device, cutting short the repetition of “I'm blue da ba dee da ba daa” with an exaggerated sigh.

 _Maybe no one will recognize them_ , Lance hoped.

“It's Voltron's paladins! Get them!”

As the Galra officer shouted, Lance kissed his hopes goodbye and readied his own bayard next to Keith. _This is probably stupid_ , thought Lance, but the steel in Keith's eyes cut his worry short. Nodding, they pushed off into the fray.

Innocent passers by shoved each other aside as they sought to get out of the way of the Galra soldiers. Pidge hopped down from Hunk's shoulders and prepped her bayard in one fell swoop, wielding it like a large set of bladed brass knuckles. Hunk's bayard formed into the laser cannon right as two of the soldiers came upon them. The instant they were within range, Hunk swung the cannon in a wide arc, smacking the soldiers to the ground. The other three were close behind.

“Hey! Over here!” Lance cried, waving his free arm.

The shift in attention was exactly the distraction they needed. While Keith raised his blade for a slice-and-dice exercise, Pidge displayed an impressive feat of precision and raced forward to swing the edge of her blade out like a grappling hook against the backs of the enemies' knees, clearly cutting open several tendons as spurts of alien blood sprayed in her direction. The blade returned to her bayard in a slick swoop.

As the soldiers fell forward, Pidge scrabbled back and, grabbing Hunk's elbow, they fled, retreating into the crowd behind them. The boys heard a ping from their wrists, but they took the hint without even looking and scrambled to escape as well—they still had a mission to accomplish after all, and this time it had nothing to do with the Galra.

The Galra disagreed. As Lance and Keith turned the corner, several more Galra soldiers nearly ran them over on their way to the scene. Seeing the exposed bayards in their hands, the Galra immediately recognized the paladins and charged, chasing the pilots across the intersection.

“Remind me why we can't just turn and fight them off!” Lance panted.

“Civilians!” answered Keith. “Quick—in there!”

“Where?” But Keith had already shoved Lance through a pair of doors to the side. He barely caught sight of a sign near the door reading “Worship” before they barreled through the double doors.

The interior was an open space filled with light. The floor was a warm red and the ceiling a light blue, connected and supported by numerous thin columns spiraled with a ring of violet. It was a very warm, welcoming space, and several aliens of differing species approached them in deep indigo robes. A few whispered to each other as they drew closer. The first was of a similar height and build to them except for the neck which stretched a full foot higher, and its jaw was heavy-set, carrying a kind smile.

“May we interest the lovers in bountiful blessings for another year of happiness?”

Keith's eyebrows shot up to the back of his mullet while Lance mimicked a dying fish, making vague pointing gestures between them in a questioning manner. Two of the aliens in the back giggled quietly together.

“You—you think we're—?” Keith stammered, unable to finish his question.

The long necked alien in front of them tilted its head inquisitively, asking, “Why, but what else would bring you here in a pair? And on Palentine's Day, no less?”

Before another word could be said, Lance roughly grabbed for Keith's hand, which still had the crystal tightly bound to his palm.

“This!” he barked, pointing. “This would be what brought us here!”

The two giggling aliens switched to “ooh” and “ahh” appreciatively.

“No—that wasn't it,” said Keith, yanking his hand back as his eyebrows furrowed. “It wasn't this, it was—“

“Shhh!” Lance leaned in close, muttering, “We don't know if they're Galra sympathizers—we can't compromise our location with them right outside the door.”

Keith frowned, but nodded.

The alien laughed, throwing its head back. “I see, I see! Eloping—how daring! May I commend the strength of heart such a commitment requires!”

“ _E-eloping_?” Lance sputtered. Keith doubled over in an apparent coughing fit.

Another alien draped in indigo stepped forward. This one wasn't especially short, but it was stout. Its mouth sat at an angle on its face underneath equally crooked nostrils, the five eyes scattered across both cheeks.

“You can't tease the shy ones so much, Gothi,” the second alien said softly, a wry smile on her face. (Or maybe that was just the crooked nature of the alien's lips—it was hard to say.)

“Shy? You call elopers _shy_?” the Gothi replied, mirth evident in his tone.

“Look, you've embarrassed them,” the other said gently, gesturing at the paladins' equally red faces. Lance personally felt akin to a tomato, and Keith's complexion nearly matched his jacket.

In an effort to look at literally anything but Keith, Lance glanced around the stretch of the room. It was wide and round with a high ceiling vaulting up, and a sort of alter seemed to be placed in the center with a few rows of pews circling around it. Decoration was minimal, and the only adornments along the walls consisted of long, thin windows in a steady row. They were tinted purple, of course, as everything in the building seemed to be.

A flash of movement through the glass caught Lance's eye. Squinting a bit closer, he realized it was the Galra. And there were more of them than before.

“ _Keith_ ,” he hissed. “There are a lot of soldiers out there—I mean, a _lot_. We might be in over our heads.”

“ _Might_ be? What do you call _this_?” Keith hissed back, pointedly glancing at the indigo clergy, who were currently bickering over the treatment of their unexpected guests.

“Don't give me that—you're the one that dragged us in here!”

“Like I knew this would happen!”

A heavy knocking brought everyone's conversation to a halt. Both Lance and Keith moved forward as if to step in front of the other, resulting in them knocking shoulders awkwardly. The Gothi stepped ahead toward the door, but it opened before he could reach it.

The purple figure of a Galra officer entered. Tall and broad with glaring golden eyes, he spotted the two pilots instantly. Several more soldiers pushed in behind him, filling the entryway.

“I am Sergeant Nizpal of the Galra Empire, and you two will be coming with me!” he announced, pointing an extended finger at the humans. Both bent their knees and reached for their bayards.

“Wait a moment!” cried the Gothi, raising a long hand in the air. “These two have sought services from our temple and are currently engaged in an important spiritual matter. You may not simply take them at this time, as you have no grounds upon which to legally detain them.”

Both paladins paused.

Sergeant Nizpal growled, “As emissaries of the great Galra Empire, we have no need for such niceties as bureaucratic paper-pushing. You would do well to hand them over now.”

“You are mistaken, Sergeant. Our planet has provided numerous favors to Zarkon in exchange to remain our own—we will not have you acting like you own the place now. You are guests here, and you'd do well to remember that. Continue this, and tariff taxes will be adjusted accordingly for your crew, specifically. On this planet, my word reaches much farther than yours.”

“You dare threaten me?” Sergeant Nizpal spat.

The Gothi smiled. “In the name of our most holy Three Deities, Pona, Dobis, and Nacem, I promise you.”

The Galra officer glared hard before turning to the door, proclaiming loudly, “Very well, we'll wait outside!” The exclamation echoed in the room as the double doors slammed shut behind them, leaving a moment of resounding silence in its wake. The clergy hurried forward to surround their guests.

Lance sunk to the floor, exhaling loudly as he rested on his knees. He was about to make an offhand remark to Keith, but it fell short when he caught sight of his face. Keith turned to him, blushing furiously, his shoulders stiff. Eyebrows in a knot, he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact.

 _Oh no_ , thought Lance. “Keith—“

“A-are you... okay... d-darling?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy guacamole you guys blew me away. thank you all for all the kind words and kudos and everything on the first chapter! i hope you continue to get a kick out of this fic as much as i do :)
> 
> thanks again to tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and SouthwesternDjinn! they're both awesome ppl with awesome blogs and you should check them out :D

If the floor was ice, Lance's butt was a tongue because he was frozen to the spot.

Keith approached, albeit stiffly, face still red. “Hey, are—are you okay?”

“No!” Lance balked, face flaming. “You just called me _darli_ —“

“—in front of other people, I know.” Kneeling to meet Lance at eye level, he placed his hands on his shoulders, all nervousness gone and eyes stern. “It's okay. Are you?”

The clergy had begun to loosely encircle them, slowly drawing closer. The hall was quiet save for the hushed mumblings shared with the Gothi. Lance, usually a fountain of empty words, came up dry. He found himself unable to think of anything, focusing on the warm palms gripping his shoulders instead, the thumbs digging in. How was it he always forgot how strong Keith actually was? Regardless, the contact was comforting. He felt grounded. Anchored.

Keith turned his head to the side. “Is there somewhere I could talk to my, um—partner? Alone?”

“Oh! Of course!” the nearest alien cried in a high voice, clapping its hands, a tinny clinging ringing from its fingers. The indigo robe swished as the petite figure twirled around to lead them. “This way!”

Keith dragged Lance up with him, but he let go once they were standing. The clergy parted as they crossed the hall, the thin alien leading them at a quick pace requiring wide strides. On the other side of the altar they passed several smaller corridors, each as well-lit as the main hall and similar columns lining the walls. Their escort led them into one of these before turning to push open another door, revealing a small lounge.

A long blue couch lined the wall and two loveseats were placed adjacent to its ends, creating a horseshoe shape. Several end tables were scattered around the room with miscellaneous brochures decorating their surfaces. Propped on one wall was what appeared to be a water cooler (though they couldn't tell if water was what it actually contained). A large screen hung on the wall opposite the couch, holographic images flickering and the volume low.

Their escort turned and gestured towards the furniture. “This is the visitors' lounge—please feel free to recollect yourselves here. No one expected the Galra to come bursting in like that—what a shock! What were they chasing you for? You didn't steal something, did you? I hear that comes with a life sentence!”

Keith shook his head. “Nothing like that. It's just... complicated.”

The alien looked a bit disappointed, but it nodded all the same, closing the door as it left.

Lance, having regained his normal pallor, shot Keith an accusing glance. “It's complicated? Really? 'Cause last I checked, the Galra's dislike for us was pretty damn simple.”

Keith glared. “I had to say _something—_ unlike you who froze on the spot! I didn't even know you _could_ shut up!”

Looking away, Lance scoffed. “You just—you shocked me, all right?”

“With a pet name?” Keith's expression contorted into something between disbelief and confusion.

“With _darling_ , yes! Why couldn't you pick one that actually suits you? 'Darling' sounds weird from your mouth!”

A scowl marred Keith's face. “This is stupid. What pet name would you use then?”

“It's not about what _I_ would use—it's about what _you_ would use! Figure it out on your own!” Lance retorted, stomping over to immediately plop his butt on the couch, arms crossed.

“You're the one who has a problem with it,” Keith growled, pointedly choosing to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

“Whatever, _dear_.”

Keith flushed. Lance cocked a smirk at him.

“Whatever yourself, _sweetheart,_ ” he grumbled. Lance's eyes sparked at the challenge.

“ _Angel,_ ” he countered, turning to face him.

“ _Sugar,_ ” Keith bit back.

“ _Pookie_.” Lance threw an arm along the back of the couch.

“ _Pumpkin_.” Keith leaned forward, supporting himself on a forearm.

“ _Boobear_.”

“ _Honeybuns._ ”

“ _Hot stuff_.”

With each exchange, both shifted slightly closer as they egged each other on. It wasn't long before they were sharing the same cushion, knees jabbing and inches disappearing in the charged air.

“ _Doll_ ,” Keith spurred.

“ _Stud_ ,” Lance breathed, eyes suddenly unsure between matching Keith's gaze or dropping to his lips, slightly parted and achingly close—the closest he'd ever been. His cheeks warmed at the thought. When did they get this close? Sure, neither of them liked to back down, but wasn't this a bit excessive? (A smaller part of him questioned how it could ever be excessive when he could never get enough.)

“ _Ahem_!”

The boys jerked apart, eyes wide in surprise as they turned towards the door. A sallow alien with thin horns spiraled forward and a delicate stature stood there to greet them. It wore the same indigo robes as the others and hands more similar to hooves were clutched loosely in front.

Smiling, it said, “Sorry to rush you, but the Gothi would like to speak with you before his other duties interfere. Please come this way.”

Faces red, the two nodded. Keith pushed himself off the couch first before turning to offer his hand, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“C'mon, babe.”

A grin struck Lance as he clasped his hand, answering back, “Sure thing, babe.”

 

* * *

 

The Gothi and his crooked-mouthed associate awaited them at the altar. The clergy had dispersed, and their escort vanished shortly after. Now that he was closer and not suffering the fresh trauma from “darling,” Lance admired the circular nature of the altar. The pews—just padded benches, really—levitated and slowly rotated around the center altar, which was roughly four feet of solid crystal. Atop the pedestal grew a young tree, its leaves glowing gently under the soft spotlight above. A tiny moat encircled it, providing steady irrigation slowly absorbed by the mud caked at its base.

Smiling, the Gothi said, “Thank you for returning on such short notice. I hope you had the time to compose yourselves after that unsightly ruckus.” His smile wrinkled unpleasantly at the memory. “But there are matters to discuss—such as introductions! I am Naij-Enlid, the Gothi of this temple. And beside me is my assistant, Priest Uheika. She assists in all romantic matters, which as a temple under Pona of the Three Deities, is a very busy role! Especially today—Palentine's Day has quite a history for believers and non-believers alike, as I'm sure you know!”

“Yeeaaahhhh...” Lance said, averting his eyes and chuckling weakly.

Elbowing him in the side and receiving a grunt in return, Keith asked, “Could you elaborate? He's a slow learner.”

Lance glared, but Keith was unaffected.

Her five eyes glittering in amusement, Uheika replied, “I'd be happy to go into detail once we begin preparations, but we never caught your names.”

Regaining his bravado, Lance jabbed a thumb in his direction, announcing with a smirk, “I'm Lance—the charming, handsome one! And this is Keith—the uhh...” he faltered, waving a hand loosely. “—the lucky one,” he finished, remembering belatedly their supposed relationship. He winked at Keith, who brought a hand to massage the bridge of his nose.

“How very lucky indeed,” Naij-Enlid commented, chuckling. “Well then, I shall go and add your names to the program tonight. Uheika? If you would take it from here? So much to do!” he said, waving as he departed, his long neck holding his head high.

The boys turned to Uheika, who asked, “Now then, have the two of you ever attended a marriage ceremony at a temple of the Three Deities?” At the shake of their heads, she continued, “Not to worry—you're not the only ones! I'll take you through the program, we'll break for the third meal, and then you'll join the others for preparations.”

They nodded tentatively, Keith asking, “The others...?”

“Hm? Yes, it looks like this year's Palentine's Day ceremony will consist of eighteen other couples being wed—a little lower than usual, but we can likely blame the Galra on that,” she said, crooked mouth pursing in distaste. “They've been much bolder as of late.”

At the mention of the Galra, Lance glanced out the windows. Sure enough, several soldiers were milling around under the steady beams of the two suns. He worried his lip with a canine. It was dawning on him how tricky of a situation they were in.

The Galra may have decided to follow the Gothi's request at the get-go, but that didn't mean it would last. Zarkon wasn't known for honoring his word, and if the Galra knew they were here, they could always change tactics and try smoking them out with any number of methods between actual fire and hostages—assuming they didn't just storm the building. Plus, since they knew the paladins were here, they would likely begin a search for the lions while their pilots were trapped inside.

And what about Pidge and Hunk? Did they escape and make it back to the ship? Were they still looking for the map? Or did the Galra capture them?

And then there was the less-life-or-death-but-still-important issue of he and Keith getting _married_. There was a lot to unpack in that statement alone.

The tooth toying at his lip slipped, tearing at the pink and leaking iron in his mouth.

He was in over his head. They were _way_ in over their heads. Where to even _start?_

Keith gripped his elbow gently, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

Lance blinked. The concern in Keith's eyes bore into him, igniting a swell of affection in his chest. _Hold up—what is this what is this what_ _ **is this**_

“Are you okay?” Keith repeated, moving his hand from his elbow up to his bicep. “You look pale.”

“Fine, fine!” Lance yelped, plastering a smile on his face. “Just—ah, bathroom? Gotta whiz!” He jerked his arm and marched off, leaving Keith bewildered, his hand still in the air.

Uheika looked puzzled. “Whiz? Is that a euphemism of some kind?”

“Um...” Keith hesitated, scratching his head. What would translate best? Piss? Pee? Urinate? “He needs to dispose of liquid bodily waste?”

“Oh, I see! Well, he's going the wrong way,” she said, bringing a palm to her chin.

Keith sighed. “Why am I not surprised... So where is it?”

 

* * *

 

Lance was halfway down the hall before he realized he had no idea what a bathroom sign would look like on this planet. He'd seen so many alien species—which were native? What symbols counted as literally universal? Not that he actually needed the facilities. He just needed two minutes' privacy and he'd be good. Everything was warm and his head felt dizzy with how many thoughts were fighting for his attention. Any empty space would do—even a closet. If he could just ease the tightness in his chest, clear his buzzing head—

“Lance!” Keith's voice rang in the empty hall, jolting Lance out of his thoughts. He screwed his eyes shut in aggravation, groaning. Two minutes—was that so much to ask?

“ _Lance!_ ” Keith barked, voice suddenly a lot closer, taking Lance off-guard and off-balance. He didn't fall, but a few steps were forcibly hopped.

“ _What_ , Keith? I can go to the bathroom by myself just fine, y'know,” he grumbled.

“Clearly you _can't_ 'cause the bathroom is that way,” Keith replied, pointing in the opposite direction. Lance glared, mumbling incomprehensibly as he turned around. Keith's eyes narrowed.

“What was that?”

“I said, 'lead the way,'” Lance answered, a bite to his tone, back hunched and hands in his pockets. Keith frowned, but he led the way all the same. The walk was a short one—barely more than a minute. Lance barreled past him when they found it, and without even looking, he threw himself into one of the five stalls, slamming the gullwing-style door shut behind him.

Resting his forehead and the flat of his hands against the cool metal surface of the door, he shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, the restroom's air crisp and clinical. It didn't quite smell of lemon—maybe lime? It wasn't citrus, that was for sure, but something in the scent was familiar. He stood there for several moments, feet rooted to the floor as he took in the smell, trying desperately to place it. (Was it grapefruit? Had he even had grapefruit before? His older sister loved it—she took a spoon to one every morning and took a special pleasure in “accidentally” squirting the acidic juices at her siblings.) A vague nausea had gripped his gut, but the churning slowed with his breathing, the stillness of the cool air cycling through his lungs and calming his overheated skin.

He hadn't heard Keith follow him in the bathroom, and he nearly jumped out of his hide when the boy spoke.

“Lance.”

“Freaking _quiznak—_ what do you want, Keith?”

“Tell me what's going on.”

Lance choked out a laugh, his fingers curling against the door. “What's going on? What's going _on_ is that we're trapped here like sitting ducks until those soldiers decide they're tired of waiting, we have no idea if Pidge and Hunk are all right, and your lion is probably being abducted by the Galra! The others have no idea where we are—oh, _and_ we're suddenly pretending to be engaged? And we might wind up married in some weird alien ceremony? I haven't even kissed anyone but I'm suddenly getting _married?_ To _you?_ This mission was supposed to be _easy_ and now—now everything's gone wrong...” His eyes stung. Lowering his voice, he said, “Maybe your idea would have been better after all... back at the intersection, to just charge from the start. At least Pidge and Hunk might not've been noticed by the Galra then.”

Matching his quiet, Keith replied, “No... I don't think that's right. My plans always amount to barging in, guns blazing—you actually come up with solutions to fit the situation. We couldn't have known Hunk had the volume up on his communicator. It was just bad luck.”

“I know... and I trust Pidge and Hunk—they can handle themselves, I know that...” He knew he was grasping at straws, but surely a bit of reflection would bring _something_ to light. A small smile crept on Lance's face. “Hunk... why the hell did he pick _that_ for my ringtone?”

“I think he's got everyone color coordinated,” said Keith, amusement in his voice. “I'm pretty sure Pidge's is “It's Not Easy Being Green.””

Lance laughed at that. (He couldn't see it, but Keith smiled softly at the sound.) Taking in several long breaths, Lance felt his ribcage relax its grip. His heart rate had returned to normal, but his frame still felt a little shaky.

“So... are you gonna come out? Or did you actually need to whiz?” Keith prodded.

“Hang on, just a sec...” Lance said. His face still felt tight from earlier; he rubbed his cheeks and eyes, trying to loosen the skin to normalcy. When he exited the stall, he found Keith leaning against one of the sinks, his palms resting on its lip. The sinks were surprisingly similar in shape to those on Earth; the bowls were just deeper and the faucets longer to accommodate for appendages of all sizes.

Before Lance could make some quip, Keith said, “We should call them.”

He expected resistance, Lance could tell from the set of his shoulders. Lance shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

“Hunk should've turned down the volume by now, but let's try Pidge, just in case.”

Keith stood up straight as Lance approached him, bringing up his communicator. Lance stood next to him, leaning close so that they were both in sight of the camera. His throat bobbed lightly at a gulp and he prayed it wasn't audible—they'd been sharing a lot of personal space lately.

Pidge picked up immediately.

“ _Where are you guys_?” she cried, Hunk smushing into view behind her.

Lance adopted an easygoing grin. “We're fine! Found sanctuary at a temple—Galra soldiers have us surrounded outside, though. Where are you guys?”

“We just got back to the Green Lion—figured some recon was in order,” said Hunk in between handfuls of chips.

Pidge nodded, continuing, “And it's a good thing we did—I checked with my lion, and there are more Galra troops swarming the whole area. Do you guys have an escape plan? 'Cause this could get tricky.”

“No plan yet,” said Keith. “We're stuck for now—if we take so much as a step outside, we're toast. We're way out-numbered.”

“We haven't explored the whole building yet, though,” mused Lance, fingers tapping his chin. “We might find an underground route or a secret passageway or something—the temple seems pretty big.”

Keith nodded, adding, “We'll let you know if we find any possible escape routes, but for now, we're stuck.”

“Gotcha. Have you contacted the Castle yet?” asked Pidge.

They shook their heads, Keith saying, “We wanted to check in with you first. We'll contact them next.”

“Sounds good,” said Hunk. “I think we should head back to the Castle to avoid any more Galra for now, but we'll come up with something to get you out. How long do you think you can stay safe there?”

 _At least until they boot us out for our honeymoon,_ thought Lance, saying aloud, “At least until tomorrow, but that's only if the Galra don't try something.”

Pidge replied, “Okay, stay put for now and contact the Castle. We'll go up to meet them and formulate a plan from there.”

“Roger,” said Keith. The four nodded before cutting the call. As soon as it ended, Lance released a sigh, gratefully letting his tense shoulders drop.

“See? They were fine,” said Keith, nudging him with an elbow. Lance rolled his eyes, but an easy smile revealed his relief.

“As if you knew any better... Just contact the Castle already.”

Holding his tongue, Keith acquiesced.

Coran answered swiftly.

“What's happening down there?! The Galra are mobilizing around your position! This was supposed to be a peaceful mission! What are you doing?! Did you get the map?”

“Coran, your mustache is gonna fly right off your lip with you hollering like that!” Lance snapped.

“Are Shiro and Allura there?” asked Keith, rubbing his ears.

“We're here,” Allura said, the two of them coming into view. “Tell us what's happened.”

“The Galra recognized us, and we've been cornered inside this temple. Pidge and Hunk were compromised as well, but they made it back to the Green Lion. They'll be returning to the Castle shortly,” Keith reported.

“But we're stuck for now, so you've gotta get the Red Lion back on the ship first,” said Lance.

“What do you mean you're stuck?” asked Shiro, brow furrowing.

Keith elaborated, “The temple is protecting us for now, but the Galra know we're in here. It's only a matter of time before our luck runs out. We figure we've got the rest of the day with the temple protecting us, but beyond that... we're gonna have trouble.”

“And the Red Lion is unprotected...” Allura said, biting her lip.

“Stay put for now,” Shiro ordered. “We'll operate under the assumption you have that kind of time and get the lion before coming for you. Do you remember where you landed?”

“I'll send you the coordinates,” said Keith.

“Wait a tick, paladins!” Coran interrupted. “Did you mean a day on our time? Or this planet's time?”

“Er... there's a difference?” asked Lance, blinking.

“A significant one!” Coran admonished, wagging a finger. “Alteans and humans seem to run on similar time frames—a day on Altea was about twenty-six hours, Arus twenty-three, and Earth twenty-four. But this planet has two suns, and its rotation is extraordinarily slower! If one of the natives said you had the rest of the day, that would give you nearly eighty hours!”

“ _Holy crow_ ,” uttered Lance, eyes wide.

“Keep in mind that due to the two suns, their nighttime is much shorter! If the Galra decide to wait for the cover of darkness, they will have an extremely limited window of, oh, I'd say only up to five hours at the max.”

“Time might be on our side, then,” said Allura, her eyes brightening.

“We'll proceed as planned and stage a rescue once we get Keith's lion. Until then, stay safe. No unnecessary maneuvers,” Shiro commanded.

“Yessir,” they chorused. Coran ended the call.

Both of them sunk against the edge of the sink for support, exhaling in sync.

“So now we just wait for the cavalry, huh...” Lance mumbled.

“And fake a relationship while we're at it,” muttered Keith. “This is gonna be a _really_ long day...”

“Well, yeah, eighty whole hours of it.”

Keith shoved at his shoulder, lips leaking a puff of a laugh. Lance grinned at the sight. The unbidden thought _He should laugh more often_ came to mind, accompanied quickly by momentary panic and _Oh yeah, still have that shit to sort out... quiznak._

“C'mon, we should get back,” said Keith, smile sticking to his face. Its brightness caught Lance off-guard, leaving him feeling like a deer in headlights. Hurriedly, he blinked away his blindness.

“Lead the way!” Lance replied (louder than necessary), stretching his elbows up in the air. “'Cause I don't remember how we got here.”

Keith rolled his eyes and pushed him towards the door. Out in the hall, he nearly turned the wrong way, but Keith gripped his elbow and steered him, only dropping his hand when there were no more turns to make. Their steps echoed lightly in the hall, and Lance began humming to fill in the quiet. Upon recognizing "Bohemian Rhapsody," Keith opened his mouth to comment, but they had already made it back to the sanctuary.

 

* * *

 

Uheika gave them a rough run-down of the events throughout the long, long, long day ahead of them. With the addition of the paladins, the ceremony now consisted of nineteen couples. If any others joined, they were required to do so before the seventh meal of the day. Several of the couples were natives, but most were foreigners looking to get hitched in an exciting port city free of Galra control. Given the extent of Zarkon's rule, finding a planet free of his control was near impossible. A planet under his influence was easily the next best thing. Cultural customs were unimportant to the Empire, including marriage. For a ritual more romantic than signing a piece of paper, many couples traveled to worlds such as this purely for the experience—even if they didn't know hardly anything about the Three Deities beyond Palentine's Day.

The Three Deities each represented a type of love believed to be instrumental in maintaining a happy life—familial, platonic, and romantic. (Uheika stressed that not all three were necessary for a fulfilling life; followers were welcome to focus on whichever Deity guided them most, which was subject to change throughout their lives.) Pona, whose holiday Palentine's Day was centered around, represented the romantic aspect. As such, the holiday ended with a wedding.

Since it was a group event, not much individual planning was necessary. What there was would be addressed after the couples had successfully completed several trials preparing them for married life. Keith and Lance had both made nervous eye contact at this tidbit. Faking it would be more involved than they thought.

At the end of the lecture, Uheika arranged a resting room for the two of them. The temple was used to accommodating aliens of all different backgrounds and sleeping habits, so all guests were granted a bedroom for them to utilize in between wedding preparations. But, Uheika informed them with stones for eyes, if they took excessive advantage of the hospitality, there would be consequences. The boys nodded quickly.

With one key to share, the paladins were then directed to the dining hall where the third meal was breaking.

 

* * *

 

“If you ask me, this is way too reminiscent of the Garrison,” Lance stated. The paladins stood in line with trays in hand as they awaited their turn at being served whatever mystery provisions the temple provided. They were behind almost thirty others, so time seemed to crawl an inch at a time. “I thought being a member of Voltron meant we wouldn't have to deal with the tedium of cafeteria dining anymore—I mean, we're in space!”

“Guess cafeterias are universal,” Keith commented. “At least it's a break from Coran's food goo.”

“Oh my god, I wish Coran would just stick to Castle maintenance and leave the kitchen to Hunk— _that_ guy can cook! I'm so sick of space baby food... heck, food goo is _worse_ than baby food! That stuff has different flavors! And it's not a radioactive green! I'm seriously concerned about that, by the way—are those marks on Coran and Allura's cheekbones a normal Altean trait? Or did they just appear after being subjected to a radioactive diet? And y'know, since they're aliens, it's unlikely our bodies will have the same reaction, bringing me to my main point—will we wind up like Peter Parker?” he ended with a flourish.

“Since this has nothing to do with spiders, no, we will not wind up like Peter Parker,” Keith replied flatly, but Lance just grinned.

“See, Keith, I should be upset at you squashing my dreams, but really, I'm just glad you recognized one of my references for once! I didn't even have to prompt you!” Lance wiped at a fake tear. Keith rolled his eyes and shoved him half-heartedly as they moved forward a few steps.

“Shut up and watch the line, would you? And what do you mean squashing your dreams? Why would you want to be Spiderman when you're already a paladin of Voltron?”

“Because he's cool! He literally swings around skyscrapers by a string he shoots from his hands—how would that not be awesome? He's like a super-powered trapeze artist!”

“That would be Robin, but go on.”

Lance shot him a dirty look. Keith just snickered, gesturing for him to continue.

“Show some class, dude—don't bring DC into a discussion on Marvel. _Anyway_ , being part of Voltron is awesome and all, but we're only cool as a team—Spiderman earns his glory all on his own. He accomplishes a lot by himself even though the other superheroes chide him for being immature, _and_ his comeback game is strong as hell.”

“Isn't that independence forced onto him though?” Keith asked. Lance paused. Keith was looking away, as if trying to distance himself from his words. “His family dies on him while he's young, and even if he still has Aunt May, he can't rely on her without risking her safety. He _has_ to isolate himself to protect those closest to him. I don't know if that's cool—I just think it's sad.”

There was something heavy behind that, and like hell Lance wanted to let it go. But encouraging words escaped him, the conversation slipping through his fingers. The line moved forward and the discussion fell behind.

The lull in conversation brought Lance to look around and take in their surroundings. Flooded with light, the cafeteria was in an open hall, its floor a hardwood showing the same red and blue streaks as the trees they saw earlier. Thin columns with violet spirals were scattered throughout the hall, and round tables with accompanying benches filled the room.

None of the temple's workers were seated or waiting in line; guests were likely fed first. Speaking of which, Lance was blown away at the extremes of couples around them. At least half of them were _painfully_ over-the-top _in love_ , eyes and hands never leaving their partner for more than a minute at a time. The other half was less obnoxious, but while they weren't all over each other, they moved as a unit, their gestures always complementing the other's.

Lance felt a bit intimidated. He and Keith had to act like that? His partner currently had his arms crossed, fingers tapping lightly on his bicep. How was he supposed to act lovey-dovey with someone as closed off as _Keith_? Wouldn't it come across looking one-sided? Then again, Keith had been the one to start off with _darling_ , so maybe he just needed to give his partner a chance. Their efforts had been pretty clumsy so far, but even stumbling was moving forward.

Still, that meant putting in an effort. Lance stepped closer, utilizing his height to rest a forearm on Keith's shoulder. Leaning towards a mullet-enshrouded ear, he whispered, “Hey, hold hands with me.”

“ _What_.”

“The only 'couple' thing about us right now is that we're a couple of humans. So let's hold hands,” Lance explained, grinning at the red tips of Keith's ears. Dropping his crossed arms, Keith silently held out a hand to Lance, who took it, squeezing lightly on contact.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, beaming. Keith snorted and pulled them forward several steps.

“Eyes on the line, babe.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk's ringtone for Shiro is "Black Velvet"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys continue to be awesome! thanks so much! i wanted to get this chapter out cause hey, it's the holidays! :) i'm not the fastest writer though, so it might be a bit before i get the next one out. life keeps me pretty busy T_T
> 
> as always, thanks so much to SouthWesternDjinn and Cool-Dad-Squad! they're both amazing people and wonderful artists! you won't regret checking out their blogs ;)

After receiving a scoop of three distinct kinds of goop and something that overwhelmingly resembled a potato, Keith and Lance wandered over to an empty table with their trays in hand. Everyone seemed to be scattered fairly evenly across the dining hall with a few smatterings of couples meeting and greeting each other, but Allura's intentions aside, the humans decided not to test their diplomatic luck.

Sporks in hand, they each examined the contents of their trays with a less-than-scientific method. While Lance poked at the unidentified chunks swimming in the green goop, Keith sniffed at a sporkful of the pink.

“Is this.... is this stuff gelatinous?” asked Lance, squinting as he analyzed the foreign jiggle of the green components, each of which lost its buoyancy and sank like a stone upon Lance's prodding.

“Lance, this smells like... like—like a really bizarre mix of shoe polish, tomatoes, and gecko skin,” said Keith, wrinkling his nose.

“Gecko? What— _why_ do y—you know what, nevermind.”

“Desert,” Keith chimed.

One scoop of goop remained for inspection. Poker at the ready, Lance approached the final pile with the end of his utensil. However, right before he could make contact, the goop let loose an abrupt series of bubbles, ceasing only once the offending spork exited its personal space.

Unconvinced by the edibility of the goop, they turned their attention to the possible potato. The skin was harder than expected, and Lance tapped it against the corner of the table. Keith raised a questioning eyebrow.

Lance shrugged, answering, “Thought maybe it was an egg.”

“Would you like some assistance?”

The two turned, facing an alien duo holding friendly smiles—the one on the left stifling a giggle at their apparent predicament. Lance's eyes bugged out as recognition struck him.

“ _Shay?_ Wait—does Hunk know? Why—“ he grunted abruptly, halting at Keith's elbow hard in his shoulder.

“That's not her,” Keith hissed, the unsaid addition of “you idiot” communicated in the line of his brow.

“ _Ohhh_ you've been to a Balmera before,” appraised the one on the right, her eyelashes crinkling in pleasant surprise. “May we join you?”

Keith gestured towards the open seats as Lance massaged his shoulder, grumbling under his breath. The two Balmerans took a seat across the table. His shock having passed, Lance picked up on distinguishing features separating them from Shay—the left one was short, her face less square and more round. In fact, her body in general seemed—maybe not particularly rounder, but smoother. Shay had more angles to her. The other was probably the same height, but her figure was leaner, her face long with heavy eyelashes.

“I am Xye, and this one is my betrothed, Rew,” said the latter, Rew failing to smother a blush at the word “betrothed.”

“I'm Keith, and this is, uh, Lance—m-my husband-to-be.”

Between the stutter and the flaming red cheeks accompanying it, Lance wanted to laugh right off his seat. He probably would have, too, if the heat from his own embarrassment wasn't threatening to melt the nose off his face (which at this rate, was imminent).

Xye hid a snort behind her hand.

Lance hissed under his breath, “ _Husband-to-be? Why can't you say 'fiance' like any other person?_ ”

“ _Why can't you stop being an ass about my word choice?_ ” Keith hissed back.

Rew giggled. “Well-met, Keith and Lance.”

The mollified humans nodded, still fighting to settle the embers in their cheeks.

“So Keith, Lance...” Xye began. “Have you ever had Thwaodnaian cuisine before?

Lance blinked. “Thwa-oh-what?”

Xye gestured to their trays. “Thwaodnaian cuisine. Of course, you might know it by its more common name: space slop.”

“Is it actually edible?” asked Keith. The Balmerans laughed, but Keith's expression remained earnest.

“It is all edible,” Rew assured in between giggles. “The pink slop smells worse than it tastes, I promise.”

“And this stuff?” Lance asked, pointing at the goop that began bubbling the moment his spork returned within its periphery.

“That is what the yalmato is for,” said Xye, lifting the not-potato to dip it in the slop in question. The hard skin of the yalmato peeled like a flower in bloom, revealing an inside like a juicy orange geode. The goop clung to the edges, and Xye scooped more of it onto the yalmato like a dip before slurping out the insides.

The humans stared for a moment before cautiously bringing small sporkfuls of the assorted slops to their mouths. The tastes were too strange for either of them to classify as either good or bad—they settled on plain weird. The yalmato in particular had the strangest texture that Lance couldn't quite agree with—there was a graininess he hadn't expected. Still, most of it was gone by the time conversation resumed.

“So you must have been to a Balmera before, yes? Was that where you met this Shay?” Xye asked.

Lance grinned, thrilled at the opportunity to share space adventures. “Yeah! About a light year or so past the Dafilbe System from here. You know it?”

Xye looked down, shaking her head. “We have not been to our home planet in many years. I know not which Balmera we came from, but it no longer matters. The Galra looted our Balmera's crystals long ago.”

Rew placed a hand on Xye's wrist, rubbing circles with her thumb absently. “This Shay—is her clan's Balmera still well? Or has the Empire already murdered it? I have yet to hear of a Balmera free of the Empire, but the universe is larger than what we know—I always hope.”

Lance's eyes softened at her wistful tone. He could relate to missing their home, but mourning the death of their planet... That was a sadness he hoped to never experience.

“Shay's Balmera was also being abused by the Empire. When we were there, the Galra were just leaving it for dead. Its inhabitants, too.”

“I see... there must not have been another mining colony close enough to transport them to. That is sad news,” Rew said.

“But y'know,” Lance continued, not noticing the look Keith shot him. “They're actually all okay, somehow. It's nothing short of a miracle, really—I couldn't explain it if I tried. They're not in great shape, but they're recovering,” he said, hoping his vague summary would satisfy. Looking up, he found both Balmerans staring at him, their hands gripped tighter than before.

“Are... are you saying there's a Balmera free of the Empire?” Xye asked, voice thin.

“Er, yeah, I mean, the Galra damaged the planet pretty badly, but they don't know it's surviving. They left it for dead.”

Rew blurted, “The Dafilbe System! Just past there, you said? Do you know the coordinates?”

Reaching for a napkin, Lance started, “I can—“

His eyes winced in pain as Keith slammed his heel home to Lance's toes.

“We don't have them memorized, but we could try to find them on our ship later,” Keith lied, an eye on Lance as the paladin glared.

“Rew,” began Xye, “We-we could not possibly... our visa is only good until tomorrow. Past that, they will track our ship. We cannot risk leading them there.”

“Then we will tamper with the tracker! We cannot risk losing this opportunity, either!” Rew cried. “Think about it, Xye—we could have a _home_ again...!”

“And leave the home we have? Our family and friends? We just abandon them to the Empire?” asked Xye, expression pained.

“We take them, too!”

“A bigger group is an even bigger risk!”

Lance struggled for words. He wanted to say something, but interrupting a discussion like this exceeded his standard social disturbances. He bit his tongue. _What to say_...

Keith turned to him, jerking his head slightly as he glanced to the side. _Time to go_.

Shooting an apologetic look across the table, Lance said, “Sorry—we wanted to look around a bit before the preparations start. Let us know what you decide—I'm sure we'll see you around.” He offered a kind smile their way, which they returned with a nod. Keith reached for his wrist as he stood, urging him to leave the table.

A minute or two passed as they bumbled around the hall, trying to find where to leave their dishes. Once that was taken care of, they exited the hall, Lance's tongue itching to bicker. The moment they entered the vacant corridor, he scratched.

“What the hell was that about?! I know both of us have those coordinates memorized—Hunk had us staring at them for literal hours in our downtime!”

Keith answered Lance's glare with one of his own.

“Didn't you hear Xye?! She's right! What if the Galra follow them to Shay? What then?”

“We're the defenders of the universe! We'll protect them! What else?”

Keith growled, “There's a whole lot of universe that needs saving right now, Lance. Why add another planet to the list? Especially one we've already saved?”

At that, Lance paused. He saw Keith's point, but... he didn't want to. He frowned, his lips a hard line.

With quiet finality, Keith said, “Protection is great, but prevention is better. Don't pretend like you don't know that.”

The condescension burned at Lance's ego. His fingers curled into fists at his side.

“Don't you pretend like you can lecture me—like you're _sooo_ much more mature than me! You don't know jack shit about me!”

Keith blinked, taken aback. “That—that's not what I meant at all!” Eyebrows scrunching, he scowled. “Why do you have to take everything so personally?! This isn't about _us—_ it's about Shay and her family and all the other Balmerans we worked so hard to save!”

“So why can't we save these Balmerans, too?!” Lance cried, voice cracking only slightly.

Keith sighed. “We can't do everything at once, Lance...”

A petulant “why not?” was on the tip of his tongue, but recognizing the childish direction his argument was taking, Lance 'hmph'ed instead, muttering a quick “whatever.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shoved off down the hall.

“ _Infuriating_ ,” Keith growled, trailing behind him.

 

* * *

 

The two wandered for the better part of an hour, a distinct lack of conversation encompassing them as they took in the temple's layout. Besides the sanctuary and the cafeteria, they passed a number of rooms with absolutely no idea what function they served. Many seemed (appropriately) outright alien. One room, small with walls of glass, had rows and rows of tall beakers in the windowsills, which wasn't strange in itself, except the sunlight never reached the room's floor. A transparent liquid gradually filled in the beakers, the bright sunlight barely a mist in the room after passing through the glass. The room itself remained relatively dim and otherwise empty.

Further down the hall, another room—practically a closet—struggled to squeeze in the three small hairy figures scurrying along a number of pipes. At least, Lance assumed they were pipes. He didn't actually know, and the pipes seemed more organic than the mechanical tubes he was familiar with. Still, he offered a wave to the workers, only to be rewarded with a disinterested glance as they tinkered away.

As they continued, the hall gradually curved, slowly encircling a garden outside. Some bushes and flowers like golden poppies guided winding pathways across the purple field of clovers, which several figures followed along in dutiful lines. In the center stood a grove of trees huddled together. The grove didn't appear particularly dense, but Lance's depth perception was obfuscated by the thick texture of the glass warping his view.

“Man, this place is huge...” Lance groaned, “Even if there is a secret passageway, it'd take ages to find it...”

“You were still looking for that?” Keith asked, genuine surprise in his tone.

“ _Yes_ , dude, what else would we be looking for?”

“I was looking for stairs.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, underground passageways generally need stairs—“

“No, I meant to get to the roof. When the others get us, it'd be easiest if we were high up. But,” he paused to gesture at their surroundings. “This whole building seems to be one level. Still, there's gotta be roof access somewhere...” he said, talking more to himself than Lance, his brow furrowing slightly in frustration.

Before Lance's response could reach his mouth, a holographic image abruptly appeared on the closest window. Its fuzzy flickering shocked Keith into an immediate fighting stance and Lance into, well, the air. (He's got a decent vertical.) Thanks to Keith shooting an arm out to steady him, he managed to land on his feet.

The holograph showed the Gothi smiling warmly, the camera not accommodating the long neck which took up most of its space. Lance thought the thick glass of the windows would've distorted the image, but it seemed to display clearly once the holograph settled into place.

“Thank you all for joining us today! We have exciting news! Our temple's longtime friends, the local chapter of the Galactic Federation for Health & Hygiene, would like to promote their services today for a limited time only! If you would like, please make your way to the hall marked on the map following this message! They are offering a full spa treatment starting now until the hour of the fifth meal! We do hope you'll take advantage of this generous offer and be sure to spread the word to family and friends! Once again, this offer is available starting now until the fifth meal. Just head towards the hall marked on the map following this message! We'll see you there!”

The holograph of the Gothi blipped into the image of a map. Conveniently, the alien tech was also advanced enough to point out where they were currently in relation to their destination. The map hovered for a few minutes before it dispersed.

Lance grinned, nudging Keith with an elbow. “You heard the alien—let's go!”

Keith frowned. “We don't even know if their practices are human-friendly. Let's not.”

“Keith, buddy, pal, amigo, look—we're here for an indeterminate amount of time, and notably not on the ship. _Notably_ not within reach of my moisturizer. My beauty regimen is not gonna be completely fucked just because we're cornered by enemy troops, so! As I recall, the map said that-a-way!” he declared, pointing down the hall behind them. Keith rolled his eyes, but he went along with it as Lance's other hand grabbed his shoulder to push him along. They were no closer to finding anything on their own—maybe the locals could provide some insight.

 

* * *

 

The walk to the spa was taking longer than anticipated. Lance complained about the map's lack of consistency to scale, but Keith felt they probably just didn't get that good of a look at the thing in the first place.

“At least we're not on our way to one of those trials Priest Uheika talked about,” sighed Keith. “Those will probably be way worse than any weird spa treatment they could put us through.”

“Do we have to go to those?” Lance whined, stomach dropping. Keith shifted his gaze.

“I don't really want to,” he admitted. “But they _are_ sticking their necks out for us...”

Lance sighed. “I guess we're here for a while—we might as well stick with the group in case the Galra try something after all.”

Keith clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, lighten up—at least the others have no idea how embarrassing our day is gonna be.”

Lance's face fell instantly. “Dude, you suck at this. I hadn't even thought ahead that far yet, but now I am, and oh my god it's gonna be awful, isn't it? This entire day is going to be one embarrassing moment after another, given how literally everyone here thinks we're a couple. This is it. This is how I die—”

A painfully basic musical number—that of arpeggios on wind chimes—played from Keith's wrist, successfully interrupting Lance's melodrama.

“ _You never changed the default ringtone?_ ” Lance asked with utter incredulity.

“ _Not the time, Lance_ ,” Keith snapped, face only a little pink as he answered the call. Coran's holograph sprung up from his wrist. The Altean was fully prepared to leap into his report for his human comrades, but he found himself cut off from the get-go.

“ _We've had these things for weeks and you never changed the default ringtone?_ ”

“Maybe I _like_ the default ringtone!”

Lance sniggered.

“ _Paladins!_ A moment of your attention, please!” Coran called, waving as far as the holograph allowed. He sighed a bit in relief as they finally turned towards him. “Just popping in with an update for you! Pidge and Hunk are standing guard by the Red Lion, and Shiro is on his way to retrieve it since the Black Lion is the largest. Surprisingly, it looks like the Galra haven't spotted them just yet! In fact, the Galra seem to be moving pretty slow, all things considered. It's like they're waiting for something! I don't like it one bit, but we'll take advantage of their idleness as much as we can!”

“Do you think they really are waiting for nightfall then?” Keith asked.

Coran put his hand to his chin. “Hard to say! But they would need a good reason to wait that long—nightfall is still plenty far off! And the Galra aren't known for their patience! Still... I'll keep an eye on them, don't you worry! Just like the walsaurus watches the potamog's flight patterns in spring—we'll be ready!”

Lance cracked a grin. “Thanks, man!”

Coran nodded affirmative, smoothing out the edges of his mustache as another figure entered the holograph.

“Oh good, you're still with them!” Allura said, smiling. “I had a question for you two!”

“Princess, you're welcome to ask _anything_ you like,” drawled Lance. The other three rolled their eyes, pointedly ignoring his contribution to the conversation.

Facing Keith, Allura asked, “You said a temple was sheltering you from the Galra, correct? Which one?”

“It's a temple of the Three Deities—Pona, specifically,” Keith answered. Lance felt his face pale.

Allura hummed. “Interesting... It sounds familiar, but I can't place it. I wonder if they've rebelled against the Galra before...” She turned away with her hand on her chin, leaving the holograph as quickly as she'd entered it.

“It has been ten thousand years, Princess—who knows how many religions have come and gone,” Coran called to the figure off-screen. Returning his attention to the paladins, he said, “I'll check back in a few hours, presuming nothing comes up prior. Do contact us if there's anything of note on your end!”

“Of course,” Keith said, pausing to wave before ending the call. Turning on his heel, his “let's go” fell by the wayside as he took in Lance's weak pallor “What is it?”

Lance looked at him with wide eyes. “Dude... is there like, a universal database of common knowledge for Allura to go check? Like, I dunno, a galactic internet or something?”

“Why?”

“'Cause if she looks into Pona of the Three Deities and comes across Palentine's Day, we're fucked.”

Keith pursed his lips, staring at the ground. “I just gave her that information on a silver platter, didn't I.”

“Yeah, buddy, ya kinda did.”

He was silent for a beat before drawing out, “So... they might get an idea of how embarrassing our day will be, after all.”

Head in his hands, Lance let out a pained groan.

 

* * *

 

After receiving directions from no less than three other aliens, the two finally found the hall where the Galactic Federation of Health & Hygiene was holding their spa session for the soon-to-be-newlyweds. It was off to the side of the sanctuary and probably about half the size. Yellow robes distinguished the spa workers from those of the temple as light gently filtered in from the wide windows facing the courtyard. At the front stood a white sign with foreign words in black and angry red marks throughout. Both paladins tilted their heads slightly as they examined the sign.

“Oh, can you not read it?”

They jumped at the high, slightly nasal voice, their faces coloring. Next to them they saw the voice belonged to an alien hovering in a yellow robe, the ivory feathers on her head pulled back and braided similar to a fish plait. Her levitating brought her to eye-level, but without it, her stature was definitively on the shorter side, her feet not even visible beneath the robe. Between the angular jawline and thin pointed nose, Lance was reminded of a hummingbird.

She continued, clicking her tongue in the sign's direction. “I knew we should'a made copies in a few other languages, but this whole thing was organized so suddenly and we were short on time and if Chadovick hadn't lost track of the umbor stones for the fifth time—“ She cut herself off with a sigh. “Sorry, no point in excuses now. My name's Rheila—I'm an intern. Anyway, the sign just lists medical precautions. Like, if you're pregnant, avoid the rydogin treatment—we recommend the plaschk treatment instead. Better for the muscles. Or if your dietary intake consists of wabul-based products, avoid the manclanese facial—seriously, it gets ugly. If you're allergic to caxericerin, you should really just avoid the premises entirely. Stuff like that, you know?” she said, gesturing vaguely. Pausing, she squinted in their direction. “I haven't seen your kind before.... _Are_ either of you pregnant? Or both?”

Lance wheezed, the wind knocked out of him, grabbing at his heart to remind himself that yeah, it was still beating and this was not an unfortunate dream.

Keith doubled over in a coughing fit, his arms braced on his knees for support as he fought for air, his shoulders shaking.

“So... that's a no?”

Lance was waiting for the breath to return to his lungs, so he waved a hand helplessly at Keith to speak.

Red-faced as he corrected his posture, Keith stammered, “N- _no_ , neither of us are—are _expecting_.”

“Expecting what?”

The _slap_ of Lance's palm smacking his face caught the attention of half the room. _Keith and his goddamn word choice_... His eyes screwed shut. This could not be more awkward.

“ _Nobody's pregnant!_ ” he strained, kicking Keith in the shin because _what the fuck, man?_

A laugh in her voice, Rheila said, “Well, it sounds like you're not too familiar with our procedures, so let's get your skin type identified before we throw you into anything. This way!”

She hovered away as Lance dodged a return kick from Keith. They paused to make faces at each other before actually hurrying to catch up with their guide, whose speed was quicker than expected. More aliens were entering, and they picked up their pace so as not to lose her in the crowd as others in yellow robes burst forth to greet their guests.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, it's not that big a deal,” said Lance, his bottom lip pulled out in a pinch as Rheila swiped a swab against the bottoms of his gums. She released her hold, and wincing, he rubbed at his mouth—she seemed to think it was capable of greater elasticity, if the way she had tugged his lip side to side was any indication.

Keith, arms crossed and pout set, replied sternly, “No.”

“C'mon—just let them do it already. I want my facial.”

Rheila chirped, “It'll only take a second, Keith. We've already got skin, blood, and hair—saliva's the last on the list.”

“And I wasn't fond of offering those, either. What do you need the saliva for, anyway? I'm not eating anything.”

“ _Keeeeeeith_ ,” Lance whined, impatient.

“The saliva's more like a control. We double-check our findings with it to make sure everything matches up correctly,” Rheila answered, smiling. “With the variety of species we treat, there's a high risk of making mistakes, so we do everything we can short of a full-body scan to ensure your safety.”

Keith grumbled a “fine” while Lance chanted in the background “do it, do it, do it!” He pumped his fists in the air as Rheila successfully captured the sample. _Victory_.

While organizing the vials and swabs, Rheila said, “It'll take us a little bit to test these and settle on which treatments are most appropriate for you. We have some artificial hot springs set up against the wall over there—you're welcome to relax a bit while you wait. We'll be calling out names when we're ready.”

Lance whooped. “ _Hot springs!_ Let's go, Keith! C'mon!”

Keith didn't have much of a choice as Lance grabbed his forearm, dragging him in the direction Rheila had indicated. With all that had happened since, well, since their whole jump-in-a-wormhole-and-form-Voltron adventure began, Lance was more than ready for some pampering.

Rheila meant it when she said the hot springs were artificial; Lance felt “hot tub” was more appropriate, or maybe “hot pool,” given its size.

“It's a bit.. bigger than I expected,” Keith said. Lance could only nod in agreement. Up against the wall, the “springs” were raised about twelve feet above ground with steps leading up to the brim. Along the bottom were cubbyholes where they could store their belongings, and to the side were several screens up for modesty, if the bathers felt so inclined.

Neither Lance or Keith felt inclined. They had changed around each other before, but Lance pointedly kept his eyes to himself this time as they simply stripped to their boxers, shoved their clothes in their respective cubbyholes, and climbed up the steps. He'd been acting weird about Keith off and on all day—he didn't need to tempt fate with any more strange reactions. With Keith close behind him, Lance paused at the top to take in the steam billowing from the water's surface. A happy sigh settled in his lungs to be breathing in humidity again. There was no salty sea breeze to accompany the warm air, but it was comforting all the same.

“ _Lance—_ sometime today... would be—nice...” Keith pushed, his voice sounding a little weird—spotty and strangled. Lance flushed. He was probably annoyed at Lance for holding up the line for no discernible reason.

“Yeah, yeah!” he called back, clambering over the lip and sinking instantly to his shoulders, the soothing heat enveloping his body without a splash. The pool dropped pretty deep, so he lazily treaded water to stay afloat. A few others milled around in the spacious area, but since most were aware of the treatments they could and could not partake in, many had already begun receiving facials and massages and the like.

Swiveling in the water, Lance's eyes fell on Keith, who was entering the pool inch by literal inch. The water was currently lapping at his pale upper thighs, and the heat from the steam had already warmed his face and chest to a steady pink and— _nope_ , nope, Lance was absolutely _not_ checking out his teammate's pecs, or the dips in his abs, or—shit, were those his obliques? He even had _those_ toned? _Nope_ , Lance jerked his face away, forcing himself to stop staring, for crying out loud.

The image was still in his head.

Did he glimpse a happy trail?

He dunked his head underwater to stop himself from looking back to find out. Limiting his senses helped a bit—even if the picture remained behind his eyelids, at least he wasn't taking in any new information on his teammate's musculature. Focusing on the slight ebb and flow of the water against his eardrums, he managed to mostly clear his head.

Surfacing, he saw the water had now reached Keith's torso.

“ _Why_ are you taking so long?” Lance demanded. “The Red Paladin can't handle the heat?”

“That's not it!” Keith snapped. “The water's just—it's weird, isn't it?”

“Weird how?” he asked. Lance hadn't even considered it—the water was similar enough to home that he'd just gone along with it.

“Like... denser?”

“It's... silky, I guess.” Now that Keith had pointed it out, the texture did seem a bit off. Not bad, but... not the water he knew. Not the water he was looking for. Looking down, he suddenly felt very separate from the liquid that had just engulfed him.

With a splash, Keith exclaimed, “ _Creamy!_ That's what it's like! But not a rich cream—more like two percent or something, right? Lance?”

“Hm? Yeah, maybe that's it...” His eyes glazed over the surface of the not-water. The color was as transparent and reflective as he remembered, and it carried the ripples of the bathers just the same, but... It was thicker. Heavier, forcing his limbs to work harder to keep him afloat.

He didn't like it.

“How long before they call our names, you think?”

Keith frowned at the question, answering, “We just got here. Who knows?”

Brow furrowing, Lance blew a raspberry, muttering something incoherent as he drifted on his back. He floated in lazy circles, sulking for several minutes. Vague chatter echoed in the hall, filling his ears even when they dipped underwater. With nowhere to look but up, he took in the architecture. The ceiling was relatively high, curving in a shallow dome with windows lining where it met the walls.

“Shit!”

That sounded like Keith. Lance glanced over to see where his teammate went.

The answer was: not far.

He was finally fully in the pool, so he had made progress in that regard. However, that was about as far as he'd gone, given that his arms were currently clinging to the patch of wall directly next to the steps. (And Lance definitely did not briefly contemplate the bulge of his biceps as they held him up.)

“Dude,” he called. “I know you were probably the wallflower at school dances, but that's a bit much.”

Expression flat, Keith flipped a middle finger.

“Just sayin'—you're not gonna get the most out of this if you don't let the heat work your shoulders.”

Paddling towards him, he watched Keith chew his cheek and wrinkle his brows as if there was something he wanted to say but wasn't sure how.

“Just spit it out.”

Glaring, Keith mumbled, “...I can't swim.”

Lance blinked, saying dumbly, “But you're in the water.”

“ _Thank you, Captain Obvious_!”

“ _Why_ are you in the water?”

“I thought there would be a bench along the wall—usually these things have seats since they're for soaking!” Keith huffed, eyes averted.

“ _Oh_ , so _that's_ why you took so long getting in! You were looking for the bench!”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock,” he muttered. Eyebrows low, his lips were set in a solid pout with heated cheeks and stray hairs curling around his face from the moisture in the air. _Cute_ , Lance thought warmly. _Objectively speaking._

“I can see some others leaning against that wall. There's probably a bench over on that side,” Lance said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Giving him a sidelong glance, Keith retorted, “But as it happens, I'm over here, and I'm not going to circle the entire tub just to have to circle the whole thing back.”

“See, that's the great thing about being engaged to a former lifeguard like me,” Lance teased with a wink. “ _I_ can swim you over and back, no problem!”

Lance attributed Keith's flushed face to the steam. Yeah, that was it.

“A lifeguard? People actually trusted you with their _children_?”

“ _Hey!_ I'm great with kids! Parents _love_ me!” Lance proclaimed loudly, bringing a proud hand to his chest.

Rolling his eyes at the theatrics, Keith mumbled “...I—I guess.”

Was it just him, or did Keith look a tad redder? As in, somehow more so than before?

_Must be the humidity. It's not like he's unfamiliar with heat._

Swimming up next to him, Lance took one arm and pulled it over his shoulders. Securing that arm with one hand, he wrapped the other around Keith's waist. Forcefully, he channeled the lifeguard training he refreshed every summer and ignored the part of his brain going _maybe you didn't notice but you're touching Keith did you notice cause it's worth noticing like really worth noticing 'cause wow those obliques of his you were ogling earlier are literally under your fingertips right now as in right now did you notice—_

“Okay, we'll take it slow, but the more you let yourself float, the easier this will go,” Lance advised.

“I'm not sure... how well I can naturally float,” Keith admitted, eyes to the side. “Muscle's heavier than fat, so I'm not very... buoyant.”

Ignoring the screaming in his head at that statement, Lance cleared his throat, managing, “Like I said, we'll take it slow.”

 

* * *

 

Rheila stared at the results. Nothing unusual had cropped up when examining the loud one's samples, and presumably they were the same species. Were discrepancies that vast between their own kind normal?

Lance's results provided consistent guidelines for treatments, so he was easily sorted into a standard category. Keith's results, on the other hand, were incredibly unstable. He escaped categories entirely—instead sporadically skipping across the board and back again.

Trying to find a pattern, she first sorted the results that matched Lance and set those aside, which was about a third of the total findings. At least they would be able to do a few of the spa activities together.

Rheila stared some more at the remaining results. Something about them seemed familiar, if not quite... right...

She blinked once, then furiously.

Hurriedly she pulled out several sheets for reference, fact-checking as quick as her eyes allowed. It matched up. Partly. But if she took into account the variables associated with the other results... It made sense.

“How are their results looking, Rheila? I haven't seen a species like that in a long time—I'd be interested to see their physiology.”

Rheila jumped at her mentor's voice behind her.

Gesturing towards the results, she said, “This one is fine—almost no surprises, really, but his boyfriend... I think he might be half—“

“I see,” interrupted her mentor, placing a clawed hand on her shoulder. “Contact the Druids.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these boys istg


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys continue to rock my socks off! thanks so much for all your support! i'm not always the greatest at responding to comments, but please know i appreciate every single one! (seriously, i reread them for motivation when i get stuck)  
> speaking of which, ch. 5 is currently kicking my ass, but i plan on getting it out next month :)
> 
> i waited a bit to publish this to see if season 2 would dispute anything i've written, but honestly.... not a whole lot has changed. as a self-indulgent canon-divergent fic, it holds up just about as well as before. that said, there really aren't any spoilers here. maybe a few little things will be sprinkled throughout as later chapters develop, but nothing substantial.
> 
> tumblr users SouthWesternDjinn and Cool-Dad-Squad have been super helpful with literally this entire fic, as well as being great ppl who support my consistent screaming over voltron  
> (so much screaming)

“I can't believe you talked me into this,” Keith grumbled, thin cracks crinkling the mask on his cheeks. They had slathered the facial cream on thick, like plaster, with the intent of removing dead skin. After several minutes, it had hardened into a gray concrete that left his face tight and tingly.

Lance knew Keith wasn't especially game for this sort of pampering, but he also nearly had an aneurysm when he discovered Keith's routine hygiene mostly meant a loose lathering of bar soap from head to toe. There was poor skin care, and then there was living in the desert with shoddy well water and rarely remembered sunscreen.

Between Lance's pleading and a lack of literally anything else to do, Keith agreed to the spa treatment.

Lance himself had opted for a different facial, focusing on moisturizing rather than exfoliation. His mask was thin, a light coat of some cream that remained wet, allowing him to yammer on at leisure.

“You didn't have anything else to do, anyway,” Lance replied, a cheeky grin sliding across his features. “I know you'd normally go train in your downtime, but you can't exactly do that here. Besides, what kind of fiance would leave his partner all alone in a foreign religious establishment on their wedding day? _I ask you!"_

Keith responded with a groan.

“So what do you wanna do next? Massage? Mani-pedi? Wax?”

Several of the crinkles in Keith's face mask became outright chasms as he sputtered at the suggestion.

“So I'm gonna take that as a 'no' to the waxing...”

“No shit,” Keith grunted. “How much longer do these things need to stay on? It's getting itchy.”

“I dunno, like ten more minutes,” Lance breezed. “But what do you say to a massage? I mean, besides the fact that I am literally always game for a massage, I'm also really curious to see their methods. What if the masseuse has tentacles for hands and just uses the suction cups to work the muscles? Or what if they just release like a swarm of space kittens to knead at our backs until they're comfortable and just curl up and fall asleep? They'd be like tiny heating pads!”

“...Literally _where_ do you come up with this stuff.”

“C'mon, _work_ with me here, man—you can't tell me you're not curious, too! The facial shit they have is pretty normal by human standards—chances are everything else is, too. And they ran those tests on us for a reason, remember? C'mon, Keith, _please?"_

“Oh no, don't— _don't—_ puppy eyes? Really? Are you six?”

 

* * *

 

The puppy eyes worked. Their masseuse, Noasyd, was weirded out by how little hair the humans had, but she was otherwise clearly skilled at her craft. Each of her six furry hands had one more finger than theirs, and her wrists were corded with thick muscle as her palms effortlessly worked at the knots in their backs simultaneously.

Lance kept up relaxed conversation with Noasyd, learning all about her home planet just a few light years over and how the Federation took her team on tours quite often around the neighboring star systems. It was a promotional gig, she explained; Lance nodded, totally focusing on her conversation and not at all on Keith, who would not. Stop. Moaning. Every few rhythmic presses into his shoulder blades yielded a groan that felt way too intimate for their current public setting.

On the bright side, Keith let his eyes fall shut, so at least he couldn't see Lance's face growing redder with every noise passing his lips. If anyone commented on his steadily increasing blush, he could blame the facial. Some minor, unaccounted for side effect. Yeah, that was it. It was fine. He was fine.

He was so much more fine when Keith fell asleep, his moans having lessened to small exhaling puffs, allowing Lance to relax as he released a sigh of his own.

 

* * *

 

“You're sure this is the right way?” Keith asked, yawning wide.

Smothering a yawn of his own, Lance answered, “The last three aliens we've asked gave pretty consistent directions, so yeah, pretty sure.”

The two paladins bumbled down the hall, limbs limp and boneless from the massage. Lance's muscles were so fluid he felt he could melt on the spot, but he figured melting on a bed would be preferable for everyone involved. Keith, meanwhile, was nearly asleep on his feet. His eyelids kept drooping, lashes brushing the peak of his cheekbones, and the usual tension in his jaw was slack—something Lance had thought was just part of Keith's face. Lance couldn't remember ever seeing him so relaxed—the guy had always been on edge since day one at the Garrison. Even after an exhausting bout of Voltron training, he seemed strained, ready to jump into action at the drop of a hat—er, helmet. For once, he wasn't... anxious.

Lance held onto that word, slowly mulling it over. It fit Keith too well. He frowned. Lance had plenty of his own insecurities to be anxious about, but Keith... what had him so tense? And so consistently? _I mean, sure, he's an asshole, but I admire him for a reason..._

Recognizing the overwhelming sincerity in that thought, Lance put a halt to that brain-train and pulled his focus up in front of them. Of course, this meant yanking his gaze away from Keith's drowsy face. Apparently his eyes had followed the course of his thoughts without him noticing. _This is why you're an open book..._

Surprisingly, they barely ran into anyone in their meandering. _Maybe their sleep cycles don't kick in 'til later. Or maybe they're already asleep?_ Lance wondered absently, stifling another yawn. Sunlight streamed through the windows, striping the hall with light. They were encircling the perimeter of the courtyard again, the hall curving gently around it in a wide arc.

Voices drifted from up ahead where the hall branched. Lance would have brushed it off, but they sounded familiar. Catching Keith's eye, they nodded to each other and approached quietly, sticking close to the nearest wall. They huddled as close as they dared to the corner without peeking around.

“I admit it was a rash decision, but we have to stand by it now!”

“Do we? I like them—do not confuse my contradictions—but the entire temple is in danger now! The Galra have been looking for a catalyst for ages to start something—don't let this be it!”

Ah, so it was the Gothi and Priest Uheika. Lance shifted his feet in discomfort. This conversation sounded a bit too relevant for them to walk away now.

“It's likely the Galra will capture them once they leave—can't we offer the lovers a reprieve before they're condemned to the whims of those monsters? They merely wish to marry—I cannot in good conscience turn away two souls that desire to be united before they are likely torn apart.”

 _Oh my god they're talking about turning us over._ Lance's eyes were wide as he took in the Gothi's words, his hand seeking and clinging to Keith's in a rush.

“Still—they're circling the premises like a pack of volofs. My assistants could barely make supply runs. And then you went and invited in the Federation for Health & Hygiene when you _know_ they're close to the Druids, _which_ need I remind you are directly under the Empire's thumb! We should have _at least_ warned the humans first! What if those cultists kidnapped them?”

Keith squeezed his hand.

“The Federation may be friends of the Druids, but they would never take any action as violent as kidnapping! Their interest in biology is what keeps those organizations close—politics have nothing to do with it!”

“It was still dangerous! And rash! Like this entire predicament!”

“Uheika... don't you trust me?”

The priest sighed. “I do, I do, Naij-Enlid... but I fear you're taking this too lightly. The Galra are being very persistent. That Sergeant has brought us three different warrants, and we're running out of free passes. Those favors you squirreled away are going to be used all at once at this rate. I feel for these aliens, but are they worth the future protection of our community? Our staff? Our congregation? We have an obligation to them, too, but I worry we're spending all of our resources on protecting these humans when the Galra will eventually take them away, anyway...”

Lance's hand was in a vice. He couldn't tell if the tight grip was due to him or Keith. The edge of fingerless gloves dug into his palm.

“I value your words, Uheika, and I will think more on them. But for now, I want to protect their love as far as I am able. I feel this is a test from Pona herself, and I want our temple to succeed. However... you are right that the Empire is a dangerous threat. I will pray and think on further protective measures we can take. All our moves have been reactionary so far—we need to be a step ahead. The Galra's circadian rhythms should start up soon—hopefully, this will give us the opportunity we need.”

Lance's fingers contracted. He felt frozen to the spot, their conversation echoing in his ears. Between the first impressions from the merchants and the Gothi, he assumed this planet held a degree of rebelliousness at large towards the Galra. They appeared so openly defiant of the Empire's presence. But that was wrong. They had more freedom than most, but they were just as scared as the rest of the universe.

The voices began to fade down the hall, their tones lightening as they turned to other topics. Keith turned to Lance and opened his mouth to say something, but Lance beat him to it.

“C'mon, sleeping quarters are this way, remember?” he said quietly, loosening his hold on Keith's hand as he stepped away from the wall, leading them back down the corridor.

Keith relaxed his grip in turn, but he didn't release it. Maybe Lance imagined it, but he could've sworn he felt the pad of Keith's thumb gently brush over his knuckles in a comforting gesture.

He might have made it up.

He liked to think not.

 

* * *

 

Their sleeping quarters were nothing fancy. Lance compared its size to his cousin's efficiency apartment in Miami. The room was rectangular with a corner squared off as a small bathroom. The only window was a wide circular skylight, which also provided the main light source in the room. A switch on the side of the wall activated a set of shutters that blocked out the suns; several settings allowed more or less light to fill the room. Mirroring the skylight, a round bed was placed in the center of the room. By Lance's rough estimate, it was about the size of a queen bed, but the roundness of the mattress made it difficult to judge accurately. A dresser, table, and several other unidentified furniture objects lined the wall.

With the skylight shutters set to permit only the thinnest sliver of light, Lance walked forward and flopped on the bed face forward.

“Guess we're sharing then, huh?” Keith commented, walking around to the opposite side of the bed.

“Myeah, guess so—unless you want the floor,” Lance mumbled, shifting his face to the side where he witnessed Keith shrugging off his jacket. That was probably a good idea. Sitting up, Lance toed off his shoes and shed his own coat, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. He had shared many a bed with siblings and cousins and the like—this was nothing new.

 _Nothing new_ , he repeated to himself, ignoring the far corner of his brain that was very insistent on reminding him that _yes, it is new when it's_ Keith.

He shook his head lightly to clear his thoughts, as if he could physically dispel them. Glancing behind him, he saw Keith pulling back the covers to climb in, only to see his boots still attached.

“ _No!_ No no no—you are _not_ wearing those in bed! Get those things off your feet this instant!” Lance yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at the offensive action.

Keith stared flatly, explaining slowly, “We need to be ready to move at a moment's notice. I don't want to waste time dealing with these if something happens.”

Lance choked on a laugh. “They're not even lace-up! You just yank them on! And right now you're going to yank them _off_ 'cause I _refuse_ to allow shoes on the furniture like some—some _barbarian!_ ”

Rolling his eyes, Keith sighed, grumbling, “Fine, but I'm keeping the knife.”

Lance's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. “ _What knife?!_ “

Keith shucked his boots, reaching into the inner lining of the right one where he removed a short dagger, scraps of fabric wrapped around the hilt.

Palms hitting his newly soft, smooth face, Lance said around his hands, “You're going to be the worst bed-mate I've ever had. Ever. You're beating out the twins, by the way—both who kicked, drooled, _and_ stole the pillows every night _without_ fail! I had to share the pull-out with them for a _week_ at nana's _,_ and you've beaten their week-long nightmare in three minutes! Do you understand? We're not even under the sheets yet, and you've already proven yourself worse than two five year-olds who pretended to sleepwalk just so they could get away with kicking their cousin off the bed! My ribs were bruised for a _month_ after that—do you know how vicious children can be? _Do you?_ ”

He would have continued bemoaning the situation, but he found himself distracted by the chuckles rattling from Keith's chest. Hands falling, a warm grin crossed his face instead. It was a nice feeling, being the one to make Keith laugh so genuinely.

“Glad you enjoyed that delightful anecdote about two children kicking my ass—now, I'm asking you, please _please_ return your knife to your boot,” he begged with the utmost sincerity.

As his laughter died down, Keith, still smiling, replied, “The twins must have been awful, but the knife is going under my pillow.”

Lance threw his hands up in the air dramatically. “Fine! Fine, but your pillow is going to be as far away from mine as possible.”

Keith shrugged, seemingly nonplussed. His easy acquiescence slightly aggravated Lance, but at least they'd agreed on some sort of compromise. The others would be so proud.

Speaking of which, Lance was a little worried they hadn't contacted them recently. It'd been several hours—could retrieving the Red Lion really take so long? Guilt pecked at him. While he and Keith had enjoyed a spa day, their team had been working hard on rescuing them. And they never did find a map, meaning this mission overall had been a colossal waste. He dully bit the edge of his tongue, brain barely registering the pinch of the muscle. They had to find a way to gain something from this catastrophic mission. Surely they could redeem the situation in some way—if only Lance could think _how_.

“You're getting the light,” Keith yawned, tucking himself under the covers.

Sticking his tongue out, Lance begrudgingly acknowledged that it was his unfortunate responsibility as the more vertical of the two to make the trek from the bed to the wall and back again. He still didn't like it though, and he expressed his displeasure by _accidentally_ kicking his foot too far as he settled beneath the blankets.

“I thought it was your cousins that kicked!”

“Runs in the family, I guess,” Lance hummed, grinning smugly even as he received a kick in return.

 

* * *

 

About an hour after they definitively went to bed (and stopped kicking each other like toddlers), Lance remained wide awake, staring blankly at the closed off skylight. Keith's back faced him as he lay on his side, breathing evenly. Lance couldn't be sure if he was asleep, but he felt it was pretty likely if the occasional nostril whistle was anything to go by.

 _Cute_ , Lance thought, bringing on a whole other barrage of thoughts that had him groaning as a knee-jerk reaction.

Keith was attractive. Lance had accepted that fact way back at the Garrison, and he'd accepted his bisexuality way before that. Actually being attracted _to_ Keith—that was new. Or at least, the realization was new.

Initially, he just wanted the guy's attention, then his respect, then... friendship? Maybe? The last bit got really confusing because it wasn't so much a specific thing he wanted from Keith; he just _wanted Keith_.

His eyes shot open. _Oh_ , he thought to himself. So that's what it was. Was it? He hadn't actually felt this strongly about a crush before. He'd crushed on plenty of people, but those were all shallow—it was never someone he'd actually had the chance to know. Not that he _knew_ Keith, but he knew him better than he'd known... a good number of people, honestly. He had his share of friends growing up back in Varadero, but joining the Garrison had really taken its toll on his social life.

Hunk was the only person he was especially close to on the ship. They had roomed together for two years before the Rescue Shiro escapade, and they'd seen each other hit plenty of highs and lows in that time. The two of them tried to befriend Pidge when she was assigned to their team, but she would have none of it. Of course, now Lance knew that was because she was focusing hardcore on finding her family, but at the time... it just felt shitty. They'd been to enough lectures to know that their team would be their new family, but the reality... just wasn't matching up. It left Lance feeling disillusioned. Cheated. It wasn't _fair_.

At the Garrison, each team basically became its own clique. Friendships between different teams happened, sure, but it was _hard_. All the class exercises encouraged interactions solely within a team. Even with Lance as the acting class clown, socializing with his classmates was relatively minimal. He knew most of their names and could assign a few traits to at least half of them, but that was because he _tried_. He tried so hard to make friends. But once the teams were assigned, all he could find were acquaintances. No one wanted anything more with him than that.

Having lower than average grades didn't help matters. No one was interested in befriending the kid at the bottom of the class—what use would it be? Rumors hinted at him dropping out at one point. He wasn't smart enough to cut it as an engineer like Hunk or communications officer like Pidge—his best shot was at flying.

And _boy,_ did he love flying.

But, as he quickly discovered, passion did not guarantee talent. That was a hard lesson to swallow. It didn't stop him from trying, though—if anything, it made him work that much harder. The cargo pilot position got him in the air, but there was no excitement to it—no rush of adrenaline, no chance for glory. Finally making it to fighter class would have thrilled him from head to toe if he didn't owe his spot to Keith washing out.

A sudden shift next to him drew his attention. Keith had curled further into himself, dragging the blankets with him. Lance frowned, but seeing as there was enough blanket left to spare, he decided to leave well enough alone (for now). He preferred a cool edge to the air, and Keith's body heat radiating inches from his own was warming the blankets enough as it was.

He had been jealous of Keith for the longest time—it was hard to remember they were on equal footing now. Lance never meant to put the guy on a pedestal, but he always felt like he was looking up. With Shiro, that was only to be expected, but Keith wasn't their leader—he was their peer, and yet... Lance always felt like he was striving to achieve even ground.

And now that he was almost on par with him, he wanted more. Keith had finally started looking at him, listening to him, _trusting_ him, and Lance... couldn't find it in him to be content with that.

Ma always told him he had a big heart. She meant it kindly, but Lance couldn't help but feel it just meant he needed that much more love to fill it.

Wait—love?

Fuck, that was a big word. _Let's just focus on attention—_ positive _attention. Maybe by the time you get it, you'll be over this dumb crush and no one will ever need to know about that one time you liked Keith._

That was easier said than done. Lance brought up his fist to press against his mouth in thought. He'd had a lot of crushes come and go in his life—that much was true, but... he never really _got over them_ as much as he simply... _rolled onto the next one_. He lightly bit over his knuckle as he formulated the easiest solution.

_Time to find a new crush._

 

* * *

 

Shiro sighed to himself in the Black Lion's cockpit, fighting an oncoming yawn. He, Allura, and Coran had devised Plan B down to G, but none of them anticipated two paladins trapped and separated from their lions. Retrieving Red had taken longer than expected. With the increased Galra patrols on high alert, sneaking Keith's lion off-planet was no easy feat.

The half-improvised plan risked more than Shiro was comfortable with. Hunk played a one-man decoy to any soldiers or drones that approached while Pidge was on standby in her lion, allowing Shiro to more or less drag Red far enough away before launching for the Castle, Keith's lion safely in Black's clutches.

They could have moved faster, but they didn't want to risk giving away their position. This mission was still about avoiding confrontation if they could.

However, there had been a lot of back and forth as general communication issues arose between the three of them. The short notice of the plan meant it wasn't particularly well thought out, leaving a number of details to be decided on the fly. Honestly, communication issues were bound to happen at some point, given that Shiro was working with literal teenagers.

Hell, Pidge was barely _even_ a teenager.

Shiro sighed again, rubbing at his temples.

Currently, he was flying around the backside of the planet in a roundabout return to the Castle. Pidge and Hunk were regrouping and taking care to make sure no Galra were following them; they would be close behind him soon enough.

“Shiro!”

He jumped at the sound as Pidge blinked into view on his left screen.

“Pidge, what is it?” he asked as evenly as his startled heart allowed.

“Okay, so first, introductions are in order! Say hi to Sputnik!” she exclaimed, her toothy grin smugly strapped across her face. Next to her at eye level was a floating pyramidal robot, beeping and flashing a greeting in Morse code.

Yet another Galra bot converted to the cause.

“Sputnik?” he questioned.

“Well, I couldn't just call him Rover 2—that would be rude! And don't worry—I modified the signature code and made it way harder to identify this time.”

“Sounds great—look, can this wait? We're kind of in the middle of a mission—“

“—Yeah, that's just it! I had Sputnik do some reconnaissance for us, and look what he found! Here, I'll transfer the feed—“

Quick enough, the screen showing Pidge blipped to another scene entirely. Galra drones and soldiers surrounded the temple, interrupting the hubbub of the marketplace. Most of them looked rather bored, actually, up until several individuals in dark robes entered stage left. Shiro frowned. They appeared to be a shady bunch all around, but he couldn't put his finger on as to why. One of the robed figures turned, and Shiro's heart pounded as his eyes snagged on the symbol on the figure's forehead.

 _Druids_.

 

* * *

 

Lance awoke to a searing pain in his gut, and he instantly brought his chest to his knees as he cradled his aching torso.

His first thought was _Keith and his fuckin' knife—I_ knew _it was a bad idea but noooo—_

It was then he realized that there was no blood, seeing as his hands were dry aside from a light sheen of sweat, and the pain was less sharp and more nauseous. But _fuck_ , it _hurt_. His abdomen gurgled with intensity. Were his intestines strangling each other? His insides felt bubbly and hot. He rocked himself slightly for a few minutes, fighting back groans while waiting to see if the pain would subside on its own.

It didn't. That would be too convenient.

Keith shifted onto his side, the front of him facing Lance, who suddenly realized he did not want to risk Keith seeing him this weak.

Biting his lip, he stumbled to his feet, making his way to the bathroom and nearly falling twice, his back hunched over in a ninety degree angle as he gripped his stomach.

A dim light turned on the moment he stepped inside, illuminating the small space that very narrowly squeezed in the toilet, sink, and shower stall. Legs shaking, he dropped trow and careened his ass onto the toilet seat, praying it was just a severe case of indigestion. He bent over himself, acquainting his face with his knees while he tried to steady his breathing.

He sat that way for several minutes, the ache ebbing and flowing like a rising tide.

_I feel sick._

“You okay?”

Lance nearly toppled off the seat in surprise as Keith leaned against the frame of the door that... oh, he left it ajar in his hurry. Whoops.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, voice tight.

“I'm a light sleeper—don't worry about it,” Keith answered, yawning lightly as he rubbed some crusted sleep from his eyes. His hair was mussed, a few cowlicks sticking out at odd angles. “You all right? You're lookin' pretty pale there.”

Was he pale? He guessed he was feeling a bit lightheaded. He held his head as high as his body would let him.

“Fine—just gas,” he strained, trying to save face.

Keith wasn't buying it. He frowned. “You're lookin' pretty miserable over a fart.”

Lance tried to wave him off. “I'll be fine—I just—“ he paused, a sudden bout of nausea slamming into him. He doubled over again.

“Lance?”

Oh no, he sounded concerned. _I just decided to get over you—you can't be nice to me now, dude!_

“Tell me what's going on, Lance,” Keith said quietly, stepping forward 'til he had a hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance shuddered as another wave racked his frame, a few sharp hiccups forcing themselves out, and Keith's hand shifted from his shoulder to stroke his back in smooth sweeps. Lance nearly felt feverish now, and he couldn't tell if it was from whatever was going on with his body, or if it was in reaction to Keith's kindness. His eyes crunched shut. _This is such a mess... I think I—_

His eyes flew open, and he shoved at Keith, choking out, “I—I think—I think I—“

Keith approached again, despite Lance's arms waving him away. “Lance, what is it? I—“

Everything screeched to a halt as a vaguely familiar orange erupted from Lance's throat, splashing both of their legs before finding the floor. A few more sputtering heaves shook his chest before the nausea passed, his abdominal muscles sore from contracting for so long. Spit pooled in his mouth. He breathed harshly, ignoring the orange-tinted fluid (bile? Saliva?) dripped on his chin.

Mouth a flat line, Keith muttered, “Gas, huh?”

 

* * *

 

The alien shower was not exactly what Lance expected. There were five shower heads arranged around the stall at his knees, and they didn't actually spout out water—just steam. Only this steam was heavier, so it didn't rise into the air very high and was fairly contained within the stall. The particles condensed on his skin at a steady rate, evenly dispersing what he hoped was soap. It came in a little pink bottle and smelled pleasantly refreshing—like cucumbers but sweeter. (He didn't care if it smelled like his nana's overpowering rosewater perfume; he did _not_ want to smell like vomit.)

Lance put his head in his hands again as embarrassment overtook him, ears turning red. Even though he had tried to push the guy away, he had still thrown up on Keith.

Keith, who had been surprisingly nice about the whole thing? After confirming that yes, Lance was fine and did not need to hurl again, he shoved Lance in the stall, asked for his clothes, and told him to shower while he took care of the mess on the floor.

Lance could make out his crouched shape through the slightly transparent shower door. Just vague splotches of color—no useful details like his face and how much irritation it revealed.

Returning to the task at hand of rinsing himself of any remaining soap suds, he attempted to plot a proper thank you to the guy stuck cleaning up his puke. (Just the thought had him groaning in embarrassment all over again.)

 

* * *

 

Upon exiting the shower, Lance found a short stack of clothing waiting for him. A loose pair of blue, drawstring pants were revealed, as well as a sleeveless white wraparound shirt waiting for him. At least, he was pretty sure that's what it was, even with all the extra fabric gathered at the neck. (A cowl, maybe?) But given that it was ass o'clock early in the morning, Lance was not mentally equipped to figure it out and let it hang loose as an oddly cut vest. Returning to the bedroom, he crawled back into his side of the bed before immediately prodding his teammate with a verbal stick.

“Keith, are you awake?” he stage-whispered.

He was met with a groan. Seeing as it wasn't a no, he prodded physically with a finger to the shoulder, which was instantly batted away.

“Lance, it is the alien equivalent of four a.m. What?”

“Um... thanks.”

Keith grunted. “Is that it? Go to sleep.”

“No, like, for real—“

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith cut in, shutting him up. “It's fine. Really. That was nothing—most of it rinsed right off.”

“Yeah, okay, but it's so early and—“

“Oh my god, it was nothing. I've dealt with worse.”

Lance gaped. “Worse than _that_? I puked on you! _How—“_

 _“Nope_ —Shiro would kill me if I told you.”

“Oh my god, _Shiro_? Now you have to tell me!”

“I don't have to tell you anything!”

“Tell me, anyway!”

Utilizing all of his persuasive charm, Lance jabbed at Keith's shoulder, arm, side—any part that was within reach. This went on for about two solid minutes before Keith finally caved.

“Okay,” Keith breathed. “But understand that this story does _not_ leave the confines of this bed. You can't tell anyone— _especially_ Hunk—what I am about to tell you.” His eyes caught Lance's, trapping him with his characteristic intensity. Nodding, Lance crossed his heart.

“Good.” Keith continued, “So you know I roomed with Shiro for a year or so at the Garrison, right? The night he got accepted on the Kerberos mission, he and Pidge's brother—Matt?—went out drinking.”

Lance's jaw dropped. “ _Shiro?_ As in responsible-to-a-fault Shiro? Our _leader?_ You're sure?”

“You wanna hear this story or don't you?” Keith snapped. Lance picked up his jaw as Keith continued, “Shiro didn't get back 'til three in the morning, and he woke me up by tripping over every goddamn thing in the dorm. And he giggled at everything— _everything!_ And he was so loud, and Matt was no better, and—I'm getting away from myself. They were loud. And Shiro ran to the bathroom something like five times in the span of an hour 'cause he peed, drank water, peed again, and it was this terrible cycle that I was trying to ignore since Matt was still there—and as far as I was concerned, they were each other's problem and I needed sleep for the flight test the next day. Which would have been fine, except they were so _obnoxious_. _Lance_.” Keith paused, his gaze hooking and holding Lance's before continuing. “ _You_ are less obnoxious than those two that night. I finally got up to yell at them, only to find Matt passed out in the bathtub, and Shiro sitting in front of the toilet, leaning on the seat, and half-consciously staring at the vomit that miraculously _missed_ the goddamn bowl and splattered on the floor next to him instead.”

Lance's chest felt tight as laughs bubbled up over the idea of team leader Shiro shitfaced in the Garrison dorms. He laughed breathlessly, hand clutching his chest.

“It gets worse—I went to help Shiro up, but he lost his balance, which made me stumble and step _directly_ in the puke. Barefoot. Matt came to while I was dealing with Shiro, laughed, and passed right back out.”

Lance howled with laughter. Keith grinned sharp.

“So yeah, that was one of the worst nights of my life. I was late to the flight test in the morning—thought Iverson was gonna murder me. This? Just some food poisoning. No big deal. Bad luck, more than anything else.”

“But wait,” Lance managed, his laughs dying down. “You ate that orange potato thing, too, right? How come you didn't get sick?”

“Me? Oh, I don't get sick.”

Lance paused, processing Keith's simple statement.

“...Keith, what do you mean you don't get sick?”

Keith shrugged. “I've just never gotten sick. No chicken pox or nothing.”

Lance gaped. “Whaaaat? No way! You probably just forgot!”

Snorting, Keith said, “I mean, I played hooky plenty, but no, I've never actually been sick.”

“I still don't believe you.”

“Believe what you want—just go to sleep,” Keith said, tugging at the blankets.

Firmly gripping his own half of the covers, Lance stuck his tongue out before sinking under the sheets. Never been sick? That sounded like a crock of shit.

_I still owe him one, though. Even if it was nothing to him, I... should do something._

Eyes shut, Lance told himself his crush had nothing to do with his need to properly express his gratitude. He told himself this crush would pass without a hitch. He told himself the blankets would have been just as warm without Keith under them.

He told himself a lot of things.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i've never been to a spa, and skincare overwhelms me a bit. i'm trying to learn, but it feels like there's just so much??? it's a work in progress. so if i've made any egregious errors, my apologies v_v
> 
> also, if you think the puking should have been tagged or had a warning somewhere, let me know and i'll add it. i was real unsure on whether i should include it or not


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can never stress enough just how awesome you all are. thank you so much for your support!! it means a lot :)
> 
> this chapter is a little on the short side, but i have art? hopefully that'll make up for it a little bit!  
> i'm not a fan of how art looks in ao3's format, so although there are 3 pieces, i've just inserted a teaser and a link to my tumblr at the bottom for the full images :) i just wanted to draw the alien fashion Keith and Lance are wearing. it's nothing too outlandish, but drawing it out helped me figure out how to write it ^_^;
> 
> shout-out to tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and SouthWesternDjinn for being beautiful ppl <3

Lance awoke to wind chimes.

It was much more annoying than Hallmark led him to believe.

He groaned as they repeated, the exact same notes in the exact same cadence. And they were awfully loud for being indoors where there was no wind to, well, chime.

“—nce...!”

He dug his face into the pillow. No, no, he was not prepared to be conscious. Come back during business hours, please and thank you.

“Lance! A little help...!”

Keith's voice sounded a little garbled, and the chimes were still going. Grumbling in defeat, he raised his eyelids, vision bleary. The chimes—Keith's ringtone, he realized—sounded like they were over yonder on the other side of the bed, maybe on the floor. And Keith—bless his heart—Keith was trying to reach it. Really, he was, but two factors prevented his success. First, he was hopelessly, _hopelessly_ tangled in the blankets. Lance was pretty sure each limb was wrapped in a separate knot of bedding. Second, the edges of the blankets were very solidly pinned under Lance, so Keith couldn't even so much as shuffle to his communicator.

Lance blinked. He wanted to help, really, but more importantly...

“ _Hahahahaha!!!_ Oh man, you should see your face! And just— _dude!_ ” he cackled.

Keith was less than amused. Whether his face was colored pink with embarrassment or effort, Lance couldn't be sure, but his expression was definitely dropping from earnest exertion to a scowl.

Lance continued, “You just—you were all 'gotta be ready at a moment's notice' but, but—“ he broke off into another peal of laughter.

The wind chimes ended, the raucous laughs ricocheting across the room. When Lance's laughter finally died down to scattered chuckles, he saw Keith pointedly looking away from him, eyebrows drawn down and lips a thin line, cheeks red.

_Shit, he must be really mad with a face like that._ Lance cleared his throat of any remaining giggles, but he couldn't quite shake the leftover grin.

“So that was the Castle, right?” he asked, reaching down on his own side of the bed where his jacket lay in a crumpled heap.

“No, it was a telemarketer—who do you think?”

Lance hummed, deciding not to rise to the bait, for once. He was in a good mood, and being the one _not_ incapacitated by knotted blankets, he already had the social high ground (which was not something he was used to first thing in the morning—or any time of day, really). His hands fumbled with his jacket for a moment, searching the pockets until he finally pulled away with his own communicator.

“Hurry up!”

“Just a sec,” Lance mumbled. “I wish we had our helmets—was so much easier to talk through those.” He shuffled over next to Keith on the bed, bringing the device up to include them both in the image as it crackled to life.

“Paladins! Status report!” Allura commanded. The rest of their team surrounded her on the Castle bridge.

Lance and Keith shared a blank look. Neither was especially willing to tell their hardworking team they spent the last however-many hours getting a spa treatment before crashing asleep, only to be woken up by Lance's stomach rejecting its alien contents, and then falling right back asleep again. Their team had been working towards rescue while they themselves were doing... nothing. Wandering around the temple hadn't provided anything useful. They were messing around instead of even attempting escape. Not that there was much they could do, but still...

Catching sight of the bags under Shiro's eyes, Lance felt a gulp in his throat from shame.

“No change on our end, really,” he said, raising an arm to scratch the back of his neck.

Pidge snorted. “ _No change_ , he says! You've always had that vest under your suit then? And Keith has always been a bumbling mummy?”

Both paladins in question flushed a bit at that.

“There's good reason for that—“

“—Lance got sick, so—“

“ _And_ I don't think they need to hear about that!” Lance yelled, slamming his hands over Keith's mouth, who brought his eyebrows down in a glare. The communicator dropped to the sheets.

“Are you guys... in bed?” asked Hunk, expanses of fabric all that was really visible to the Castle anymore.

Lance scrambled to retrieve the communicator, holding it up much closer to his and Keith's faces than it really needed to be.

“Of course not, Hunk! Ha ha what kind of irresponsible paladins of Voltron do you think we are? As if we'd fall asleep on the job!” Lance postulated, holding back panic with a very feeble front. Chopsticks were stronger.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith said, quiet and firm. _Cut it out already._

Grimacing, a few of his nerves took the memo.

The memo flew out the window when there was a knock at the door.

“Gottagobye!” rushed Lance, ending the call.

 

* * *

 

Allura brought a hand up in a less-violent-but-very-much-expressive facepalm. These were her paladins, her treasured warriors charged with the sacred mission of protecting the universe with the Voltron of legend.

“These idiots...” she grumbled into her palm. Coran gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“They're all very young, you know. And none of them have experienced a galactic war like we have... even Shiro. It's different for them,” Coran said quietly.

“It's a _game_ to them, is what you're saying!” she snapped, wilting instantly after her words. “That was cruel—I apologize.”

Coran looked over at the humans, who were sharing strained glances. Everyone was tired. Despite the wisecracks Pidge had whipped up, she'd been hiding yawns for the past hour, and Hunk's eyelids would droop whenever he thought no one was looking. Shiro had not exhibited any physical signs of exhaustion that the adviser noticed, but he had been rather quiet for a while now. And as for Allura, well...

Allura was grumpy.

Coran clapped his hands together in a successful call for their attention.

“Paladins! Princess! I understand how worried you all are for our friends, _but_ let's take a few things into consideration here. Despite the enemies surrounding the temple, Keith and Lance have maintained sanctuary without a hitch! The three of you did retrieve the Red Lion—even if there were a few hiccups along the way—and returned safely, yourselves!”

The others nodded along, not entirely sure where the Altean was headed with this.

Coran continued, “We are currently at a stalemate until one side initiates contact, and to be blunt, none of you are in fighting condition. If we can put off contact while you retrieve your wits, I think the results will be better off for it!”

Eyebrows scrunching, Shiro asked, “I'm sorry, Coran, what are you getting at here?”

“He's telling us to take a nap,” Allura stated, voice flat and arms crossed. “But I disagree! We should get in there and rescue them _now—_ the sooner, the better!”

Coran tutted, “A rescue mission won't go very well if none of you can stay awake through it!”

Hunk interjected, “But what if something goes wrong while we're asleep? By the time we woke up, it'd be too late! I don't think we can risk it!”

“That's why _I'll_ be awake to keep an eye on things!” Coran said proudly, hands placed on his hips and chest outstretched. “If anything happens, I'll just blare the alarm,” he added, a tad too eager for Hunk's liking.

“What about the Druids?” asked Shiro. “We still don't know what they were up to down there.”

“We mustn't forget that the Druids are a spiritual sect, themselves,” Coran said. “While I'm sure they're up to no good, they would respect the temple's authority, at least initially. It's likely they want to gather intel before acting on anything—you all should be perfectly safe squeezing in a few hours of shuteye.”

“But I can totally—“ Pidge started, a yawn interrupting. “—totally stay awake...”

Shiro gave up, pointedly placing each hand on Pidge and Hunk's shoulders before steering them away.

“Power naps. Let's go,” he said firmly as he led them off the bridge. If either of the younger paladins struggled, Coran couldn't tell; Shiro herded them away quite efficiently.

Coran turned to face his princess, who betrayed her age with a pout. He'd seen that expression on her face many, many times. Usually when she was losing.

“Princess—“

“I'll take your advice, but you'll wake me the tick _anything_ happens, understand?” she said.

Bowing lightly, he answered, “As surely as you are King Alfor's daughter, you have my word, Allura.”

Satisfied, she left the bridge, turning to get one last look at the viewscreen as Coran settled in to keep an eye on the situation, Sputnik hovering beside him.

 

* * *

 

“Well?” Keith prompted as Lance returned from answering the door, unwrapped shirt tails flowing with a surprising amount of grace. It reminded Lance of last Halloween when he wore a cape—he forgot how much taller he felt wearing them with the fabric flicking his legs at every step. (His sisters were on a vampire kick that year—they'd read everything between Stephanie Meyer and Anne Rice; Lance did not have a choice.)

“First trial's in like, an hour, I think? I'm not entirely sure what the time measurement conversion formula is, so we should probably try to move a little quicker to be on the safe side. By the way, I know you said you rinsed off our clothes last night, but that can't be enough—where'd you put them? We should probably find some sort of laundry facility. There's gotta be one here somewhere, right? ….uh, Keith?”

Keith was zoning. Lance waved an arm and then snapped his fingers a few times.

“Yeah... variations of these clothes were all I found in the drawers,” he said.

Tilting his head, Lance replied, “Okay, great, uh, but that wasn't my question. What'd you do with our actual clothes?”

“Oh, um, right.” Keith blinked, brain finally catching up. “The panels on the wall over there are like a closet—I hung our stuff in there to dry.”

Lance nodded, walking over to said closet, but before he managed three steps, Keith started, “ _Wait_ , wait—help me out of this first.” He gestured at his tangled situation by vaguely shaking his arms.

Lance's grin bit into his cheek in a smirk. A snarky retort was on the tip of his tongue, but at Keith's narrowed eyes, he kindly refrained. Returning to the bed and reaching over, he started tugging at the bedding wound tightly around Keith's right arm. His lower lip jutted a bit as the knot proved more tangled than he realized.

“Dude, how did you manage this? Are you a boy scout in your sleep or what?” Lance grunted, finally freeing one arm from the fabric.

“Well, I'm no sailor,” Keith grumbled, eyes downcast as he began working on his left arm with his newly freed appendage. Lance snorted lightly in response as he moved on to Keith's leg. The two remained relatively focused on the task at hand after that. When Keith was once again in possession of four working limbs and an unbound torso, he began stretching, a few joints cracking in the process.

Uncovered from tangled sheets, Lance saw Keith had donned the same style of alien pants as him—just red instead. He'd managed to salvage his black tee, but besides their jackets and shoes, everything else had been wound up in the line of fire—or, the line of bile, really. Lance cringed inwardly at the memory.

“What're you making faces at?” Keith asked mid-stretch, his elbows up in the air as he pulled on his triceps. His shirt rode up a couple inches, and Lance pointedly kept his gaze on his teammate's face.

“Nothing, just—just trying to figure out these clothes.” He fiddled with the ends of the top—small clips dangled at the tips. A wraparound shirt made the most sense, but alien cultures had confused him before.

Keith shrugged. “Good luck.”

“Gee, thanks,” he replied dryly. Pulling at the fabric, he stretched it to see how many times it could encircle his frame. The material had more give than he initially thought, making its way around almost three times, and the extra material at the neck seemed to be a hood. He lifted his face to request Keith's help to keep the shirt from bunching up unevenly while wrapping, but the guy had already shut himself in the bathroom. Faintly, he could make out the sound of the steam shower hissing in action. Sighing, Lance resolved himself to the awkward endeavor of getting dressed in alien garb.

Having satisfactorily wrapped the shirt around his torso and clipping the ends in place at his hips, he gave a critical eye to the pants. They were so _roomy_ , it was going to drive him crazy by the end of the day. He went over to the hidden closet Keith pointed out to see just how badly he'd ruined some of their clothes.

Opening the closet was answer enough. His nose instantly crinkled in disgust at the smell, and he almost hurled again right there.

Shutting the door quickly, he instead made his way over to the sizable dresser against the wall. Pulling the drawers open, he shuffled through the piles of fabric. Keith had said he only found the clothes he and Lance were already wearing, but Lance had his doubts, which turned out to be well-founded when he discovered several other styles and cuts buried deeper than Keith had clearly bothered to look.

When Keith emerged from the bathroom, the fringes of his mullet curling up as his hair dried, he found Lance playing with the loose hood of his wraparound top. His pants were no longer the loose pair he'd found in the night, but rather resembled joggers. There was a lot of loose material hanging around his thighs, but past the knee it clung tightly down to his ankles.

Catching his eye, Lance grinned.

“Keith! I found pants! You don't have to wear those pajama bottoms all day now!”

Keith shook his head, saying, “Nah, I'm fine with these. They remind me of my old taekwondo uniform.”

Lance's mouth opened, then shut, then said, “Did they teach that at the Garrison?”

“No, I took it on my own. There was a dojo in this one town,” he said, stepping around Lance to locate his boots and jacket.

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “'This one town?'”

“Well, I lived there.”

“You can just say 'hometown,' dude.”

“Not... really. I grew up in more than one place, Lance,” he answered, turning to sit on the bed.

“Oh, were you an army brat, or something?”

Keith snorted, saying, “Or something, yeah.”

The room was silent for a moment, save for the shuffling as Keith pulled on his boots. Lance wasn't sure how to carry the conversation from here; he'd never known anyone who couldn't say they had a hometown. He wasn't the most tactful, but this conversation felt like navigating a field of landmines. It was safer not to make a move at all.

Sparing him a sidelong glance, Keith said, “You don't have to feel so awkward about it. It's just whatever.”

Lance frowned. He was pretty sure it was much more than _whatever_ , but it wasn't his place to say. And if Keith wasn't volunteering, he wouldn't push.

“Yeah, okay, so you think they're still serving breakfast?”

Keith stared at him as Lance dug out his own shoes from under his jacket.

“You threw up last night, and now you want to go back for more?”

“ _Exactly—_ I threw up, meaning now, I'm starving. And thirsty. Oh my god, Keith, I am so thirsty. If they don't have breakfast, fine, but I need me some OJ.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith quipped, “I doubt they'll have OJ, but sure, let's find out.”

Grinning, Lance replied, “That's the spirit!”

 

* * *

 

“ _Why are you closed?_ ” Lance wailed, his palms leaning flat against the very much shut door. “My throat is drier than Arizona...!”

Regrettably, the cafeteria was no longer serving breakfast. (Orange juice was also unavailable.) A sign next to the door listed mealtimes, probably—too bad the paladins couldn't read it. There wasn't even anyone around for them to ask for help, which in all honesty was throwing Keith on edge. Cafeterias were generally located near high traffic areas, so where was everyone? He kept hearing a faint scuffling or pattering, indicating others were nearby, just... out of sight. The noises were scattered and inconsistent, so it was unlikely they were being followed. Still...

...it unnerved him.

“Drier than the British and their shitty biscuits!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Biscuits are _supposed_ to be dry, Lance. And talking is just gonna dry your mouth out more—give it a rest, already.”

Rounding his glare on Keith, Lance continued pointedly, “ _Drier than Keith's pores!_ ”

Flushing, Keith growled out, “I did not put up with that itchy face mask just for you to insult me right off the bat again!”

“One mask can't fix the dire situation that is your face! It's a start—not a miracle!” Lance cried, arms in the air.

Keith groaned, biting back the comment “It's a miracle I went through with the spa at all!” His face fell in his palms as Lance prattled on about skincare. On the bright side, at least he wasn't bemoaning the closed doors anymore, but Keith wasn't convinced the tradeoff was worth it yet.

Then he heard it again. Footsteps.

He lifted his head, straining his ears, willing them to hear anything that wasn't Lance.

Lance, however, was making himself impossible to ignore as his tirade finally broke off into a series of coughs, hacking lungfuls of aggravated air in the corridor. Keith turned to snap at him, but the enunciated squeak of a shoe on a wet surface drew his attention instead.

To the left, where the smooth floor became progressively shiny, a pyramidal bot hovered back and forth as it projected a holograph of a orange letters—probably reading “WET.” Just beyond, Keith caught sight of a dark cloak disappearing around the corner. Raising a finger in a _hold on_ gesture to Lance, he jogged after the clergy member, intent on asking about a water fountain, laundry facilities, and where everyone went.

Rounding the bend, he caught up much quicker than expected and nearly ran into the figure that wound up being much, much taller than he expected. Towering, it turned to face him.

Under the brown hood ( _not_ purple like he thought) revealed an ivory mask with several slits for eyes, the front protruding in a slight beak. Keith couldn't stop his eyebrows from shooting up, but he did halt the gulp at the edge of his throat. Sinister intent radiated from the figure, and ice washed over Keith's skin in a wave of goosebumps as he met its glowing yellow eyes, a foreign energy—a _wrong_ energy—pervading the space and sending his senses on high alert.

“Druid Valhol! This way, if you please! The Gothi is very busy!” a real clergy member called from up the hall. The Druid stared at Keith for a moment longer, tilting its head, before wordlessly rejoining its escort, cloak billowing in the empty air behind it.

A Druid. _A Druid_. Fighting his shock, Keith struggled to recall everything he knew about them.

It was a short list. They stole Shiro's arm. They were behind the robeasts Zarkon had so lovingly sent after them. They could use magic or something? Allura and Coran had mentioned them in passing, but he'd never actually seen one.

“Who was that?”

Keith nearly jumped at Lance's voice behind him, irritated at his own displaced composure, and answered, “A Druid.”

“A Dru— _you're kidding!_ ”

“I wish. You have your bayard?” he asked, keeping his voice low and level.

“Right here,” Lance said, patting his thigh.

Keith nodded his approval. “Let's find some answers.”

 

* * *

 

Following the Druid was easy, given the emptiness of the halls. The paladins could hear the escort's footsteps echoing from quite a ways back. They couldn't hear the Druid's steps. Lance hypothesized it levitated; Keith theorized it had very soft shoes. There were a few occasions where another alien's steps overlapped from down the hall, but by that time, they had already gotten used to the escort's rhythm and had no trouble recognizing its cadence.

At least, until Priest Uheika appeared, her mouth slanted in an uneven frown at the sight of them.

“Where are you two going? We're holding the first trial in the main sanctuary.”

Keith “uhhh”ed but Lance piped up quick enough.

“Oh thank god we found you! We got lost and we missed breakfast and I'm thirsty as all get out—know where there's something to drink? And side-note, is there somewhere we could wash our clothes? There uh, was an accident...”

Her five eyes blinked at varying speeds as she processed the questions.

“Staff members will be stopping by all the rooms periodically to ensure nothing is amiss. Any dirtied linens will be seen to accordingly. I have nothing to offer in the way of food until the tenth meal breaks, but we can find you something to drink on the way to the sanctuary, I'm sure.”

The gratitude on Lance's face faltered. “So, er, we're headed to the sanctuary now?”

“Of course,” Uheika said insistently. “The trial is starting soon—you'll be late otherwise, and we can't risk you getting lost again.”

“N-no, I suppose we can't...” Lance agreed weakly, shooting Keith a somewhat panicked expression.

“What about the Druid?” Keith asked abruptly. Uheika's eyes widened in surprise before regaining her composure.

“The Druids have business with the Gothi, but I assure you it is no cause for concern. We are aware of their connection to the Empire, and we are taking all necessary precautions.”

“Like what?” Keith asked, his stubborn streak showing.

“Like _we're going to be late_ ,” Uheika said firmly, knocking Keith off-balance as she hurried them down the hall. “The Gothi has dealt with far worse, and I promise you'll be most secure with the group. Now we must get a move on.”

Keith gave an indignant huff as Uheika pushed them along, her arms stocky but strong. He turned to gauge Lance's reaction, but the other just gave a defeated shrug of his shoulders.

“I'm still holding out for OJ.”

 

* * *

 

The Gothi's office was not kind to organizational habits. Enclosed by warm coral walls, the mess was forcefully contained within its confines, the only escape a singular, light blue door directly across from the desk. Generally, the Gothi was allowed to perform his spiritual duties while lower level priests saw to the management aspects. However, with the holiday in full swing and the Empire at their door, there was no one free to delegate, leaving Naij-Enlid swamped with paperwork and meetings and constant interruptions.

How Uheika managed was beyond him.

Naij-Enlid rubbed his temples to sooth the headache behind his eyes, several rings clinking together. His fingers felt scalier than usual. They were only a quarter of the way through the day and his skin was already showing signs of stress. A dull pang of regret yanked at his chest as he remembered the Health & Hygiene Federation had provided the temple with a bundle of good faith goodies, including several types of lotion, which he had left in the staff lounge. His temple workers deserved the best, no question (except maybe Iridney—she slacked her communion duties on a daily basis). Regardless, he wished he had thought ahead to snag something for himself.

Maybe he could request his beloved to bring him some. Or wait, that was out—they had planned on not seeing each other until evening when they renewed their vows.

Unthinking, his eyes slid over to the recorded holograph of them dancing several Palentine's Days ago. He smiled.

His headache was still there. He rubbed at his eyes. Jars of sunlight were strung across the room, providing him with the natural light that suited his vision best. Artificial lights stung his retinas halfway through the day. Sunlight was much kinder—not only was it easy on his eyes, the subtle UV rays warmed the room just enough to maintain a comfortable temperature. Unfortunately, they could only harvest a mixture of the light from both suns at the temple; single source sunlight lasted longer, but the distillation process was terribly pricey.

An abrupt rapping at the door snatched his attention from the cost effectiveness of DIY sunlight fixtures.

“Gothi, the Druid Valhol wishes to meet with you!” his assistant Tyrka called through the door.

Hurriedly organizing the loose files scattered in front of him into respectable piles, he answered, “Of course! Please enter!”

The door opened to reveal the Druid, tall and imposing.

Naij-Enlid straightened, a false smile on his face. He would not be intimidated in his own office.

“Valhol, was it? How can I help you?”

The Druid twitched at the informality of the greeting.

Naij-Enlid gestured at the chairs on the other side of his desk.

“You're welcome to sit, if you like.”

The Druid answered slowly, breathing its words in a hiss, “I have done enough sitting, thank you.”

“Oh? My apologies if I've kept you waiting long—it's a very busy day, you understand.”

“Yes.... that it is.” The Druid stepped into the office, its movements unnervingly fluid.

“So,” Naij-Enlid began, bringing his hands together in front of him on the desk. “What can I do for the Druids today?”

“Gothi Naij-Enlid, you are aware of our organization's... _interest_ in organic sciences, yes?”

“Such as natural energy manipulation?”

“Such as biology,” the Druid corrected. “As generous as the Empire has been to us, we have an inclination towards studying the Galra race, especially.”

“I fail to see the connection to my temple, Valhol.”

The Druid flinched again at the casual address, but continued, “But sometimes certain details are overlooked when you learn through simple comparison. Sometimes you can learn more through _contrast_ instead.”

The Gothi frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“It is not unusual for foreigners to gather on Palentine's Day—I understand your temple is a popular tourist attraction on this day.”

Naij-Enlid bristled at the insinuation that their holiday was something so shallow as a grab for tourists.

“It has come to our attention, Gothi, that one of the foreigners you have welcomed here is part-Galra. As such, we would be—“

“You want to study one of my guests,” the Gothi finished, mouth a flat line and eyebrows low.

The Druid nodded. “Essentially, yes.”

“You mean to tell me,” Naij-Enlid began, leaning forward on his elbows. “On the holiday of romance, where couples are being wed, in a sacred religious institution, you dare—you _dare—_ to steal one of my guests away from their fiance for _science?_ For something so impersonal and invasive as studying their physiology? And you ask _me_ for permission?! On _their_ wedding day?! As if I have the authority to interrupt Pona herself from blessing their love?!”

“Gothi—“

“ _No!_ You've already wasted my time with this nonsense—you _shall not_ waste theirs! The busiest day of the year for my temple, and you want to take away a guest of honor for _science—_ the _nerve!_ ”

“Gothi, if you would only consider—“

Naij-Enlid stood, stretching his elongated neck to its full capacity and leaning over the Druid as it cowered instinctively. His eyes were hard as he stared down at its mask, the glow of its eyes dull.

“I will consider nothing,” he said evenly. A beat of silence passed before he barked, “Tyrka! Are you still there?”

Through the door, he heard a muffled, “Yes, Gothi!”

“Please escort Druid Valhol to the door. We're done here.”

The Druid retreated towards the door where Tyrka waited, but before leaving, spat out, “The Druids will remember your rudeness, Gothi.”

“And I, yours,” Naij-Enlid replied, glare glued on the Druid as it left his sight. His chest ached. It had been a long time since he had felt such righteous fury course through him. Bringing up the ring on his right thumb, he spoke into it, “Security—assistant Tyrka is escorting a visiting Druid to the door. Please ensure she succeeds.”

 

* * *

 

 

 full images [here](https://genellodraws.tumblr.com/post/163916314787/genello-i-wanted-to-draw-out-the-alien-fashion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> valhol was in waiting room hell for like 7 hours lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it bears repeating that i am floored by all of the subscriptions, kudos, and bookmarks to this fic. thank you all so much for the support! i appreciate it so much--really! 
> 
> but i have news! news that has good and bad repercussions, so... it kinda neutralizes itself? sort of?  
> i'm going on vacation next week! and not just any vacation--i'm flying to Hong Kong, Japan, and Hawaii!!! i've been planning this trip for the past two years and it's finally happening!  
> !!!!!!! i cannot scream loud enough to express my excitement !!!!!!!  
> so while i'm fucking pumped, i regret to inform you..... the next update probably won't be 'til June. it takes me about 3 weeks to write a chapter, and another week or so of editing. but my vacation is 3 weeks long, and a week after i get back, work is sending me to a week of training.  
> (i'm hoping to write some on the plane, but writing gay fanfic next to an absolute stranger might be more than my self-conscious heart can handle.)  
> i have ch. 7 roughly planned out, and i've got a solid start on it, but nonetheless, imma be fuckin busy, guys.  
> (just don't give up on me--i have so many plans for this fic. So Many.)
> 
> but that said! again--tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and SouthwesternDjinn rock my socks off and you should pay their blogs a visit <3

Lance took a sip from his space juice pouch. It tasted blue. It was sweet, but a different kind of sweet than his taste buds were used to. It was like a Capri-Sun.

_Capri-Space? Caspace-Sun? No, that sounds like caspaicin. Wait, was it caspaicin or capsaicin? Huh, that'd be good branding if we found any peppers out here. I should get Hunk in on this—bet he could whip up some recipes in no time! We'd be famous! Hunk could do the cooking and I'd be the face! We'd be great business partners. I mean, I don't know much about entrepreneurship, but we could totally rock the space culinary world. Oh! Maybe Coran could be management? As long as we keep him out of the kitchen—_

An obnoxious _slup_ pulled him back to the present where Keith was finishing his own juice pouch. Proceeding to do the same, Lance made a mental note to discuss culinary domination as a tactic versus Zarkon ( _Changing the very culture of the Empire is absolutely an effective means of bringing it down—_ ) and went back to gulping down the rest of the blue-tasting liquid.

Upon entering the sanctuary, the paladins joined the other couples that had taken seats on the pews encircling the crystal altar. The sanctuary was nearing max capacity. Besides the forty individuals getting hitched, temple workers busied themselves throughout the hall with hands and mouths trading duties and information. Although he couldn't place the source, Lance could've sworn he caught the fragrant scent of lilacs in the air.

They nabbed one of the few remaining pews near the back. The other couples chatted amicably amongst themselves, their voices echoing faintly in the open space. Xye and Rew caught their eye several pews over and nodded, smiling. Lance and Keith waved back, relieved to see the Balmerans holding hands, their gray arms snug against one another.

Only levitating a few feet off the ground, Lance's toes dragged along the floor as the pew slowly rotated clockwise. He shifted his butt further back on the bench. By maneuvering his rear to skirt the back edge of the seat, he managed to keep his feet from brushing the ground, barely. Keith gave him a funny look before piecing the actions together. He quirked a smile. Lance eyed him, suspicious.

“What is it, dude.”

“Nothing,” Keith breezed, innocent.

Lance's eyes narrowed. “You were thinking something.”

“Nothing, really.”

“Keith.”

Shrugging as if the cat was out of the bag, Keith replied, “Just wondering if you had giraffe blood in your veins.”

Lance gaped. _Did Keith just crack a tall joke? At_ me _?_

“Dude, I'm not even that much taller than you.”

“What's that? It's a bit cloudy today—can't hear you all that well,” Keith teased, holding an open palm up to his ear.

Lance rolled his eyes and elbowed the snickering Keith lightly.

“You've been spending way too much time with Pidge,” he muttered, unable to completely conceal the grin at Keith's joking. _Joking! Keith was joking!_ Lance was about to expound on his statement, but their attention was abruptly directed to the altar where Priest Uheika stood in front of the crystal pedestal, arms spread in a warm gesture.

“Welcome all, and thank you for coming. It looks like everyone is here, so let's get started! Each of our preparatory sessions will be based on an important aspect of married life. Of course, given that you're here, we presume all of your relationships are strong and well, so these trials are merely intended as reminders of healthy habits. First, we'll start with some practices in communication.”

 _Oh no_ , Lance thought. _Communication? With Keith?_ Lance's eyes immediately glanced to the side. If the slight frown and crossed arms were anything to go by, Keith had similar concerns.

“To begin, we'll have you warm up by engaging in a common introductory social exercise—“

_What, like Twenty Questions? Or Never Have I Ever? Or—_

“—Two Truths and a Lie,” Uheika finished. “I'm sure many of you have played this before—it's very simple! Someone will give three statements about themselves, two of which are true while the other is false, and their partner will have to guess which is the lie. You'll take turns until the clock stops. Begin!”

Lance turned to face Keith on the pew, alien chatter buzzing around them as they made eye contact. The frown was still Keith's face, but it looked more uneasy than anything else. Lance flung a grin in an effort to dispel some of his discomfort. (His frown didn't vanish entirely, but the corners lifted by a hair.)

“Have you played this before?” Lance asked. “Summer camp had us play every variation under the sun and then some—I probably know every ice-breaker in the book.”

He may have come across more boastful than intended, but Lance couldn't help it. Beating Keith in any category—even something as paltry as ice-breaker games—boosted his ego.

“No, can't say I ever went to summer camp,” Keith said, shaking his head.

Well, that took the edge off Lance's ego boost. A win didn't feel like much of a victory if the opponent never had an opportunity in the first place.

Keith still looked tense, so Lance clapped a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

“Loosen up, man! It's really not so bad—here, I'll start! Um... Let's see... Okay! One: I have four siblings.” He held up a fist, raising his fingers as he counted off. “Two: I've known Hunk from birth. Three: I cut my own hair.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he said, “Which was the lie?”

Keith thought for a moment, shrugging as he guessed, “Three? Cutting your hair?”

Lance tsk'ed loudly. “I trim this every two weeks like clockwork, dude—how have you not noticed the hair in the bathroom? I thought this one was practically a gimme!”

“Oh, so _you're_ the one who's been clogging the shower drain?”

“Are you kidding me? My hair's way too short for that, unlike _some_ people I know! _Plus_ , I cut it at the sink—y'know, where there's a _mirror_. If you wanna fight about who's clogging the drain, argue that with Hunk!”

“Whatever, we're getting off-topic,” Keith grumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Which was the lie?”

“Oh, knowing Hunk from birth. We met at the Garrison, actually, but everyone seems to think we've known each other a _lot_ longer.”

“Huh, no kidding.”

“Yep! So... your turn,” he said, nudging Keith with an elbow. “Two of your deepest, darkest truths and one tiny, insignificant lie!”

“Right... uh... So one: Holographs give me headaches. Um...” He stared fruitlessly at his hand as if his fingers could produce another factoid for him.

Lance did not have the patience to see if his fingers could indeed do just that.

“C'mon, man, it doesn't have to be anything crazy. Just little facts from your life. Maybe something weird to throw me off, but like... you don't have to think so hard on it, y'know?”

Keith's brow furrowed, but his expression was less of a glare and more inwardly focused. Lance was just about to start tapping his fingers pointedly on the bench when Keith finally spoke up.

“Two: I had two sets of baby teeth. Aaaaaaand three: I've never played a Pokémon game,” he finished, proudly holding up three fingers more to himself than Lance, who was staring at Keith mighty hard.

“...as impossible as number three sounds, it's _obviously_ the teeth. You're supposed to make this a _little_ hard, mullet!”

Keith made a show of feigning examining his fingernails.

“Sure you don't want any take-backsies?”

“As if!”

Keith shrugged, saying, “Sucks to suck. Your loss—the correct answer was door number three.”

“But—that's impossible,” he pushed out, fully dumbfounded. Keith couldn't be serious. There was no way he'd actually had two sets of baby teeth. _Unless he's an idiot_ , his brain supplied, which didn't actually help matters at all.

Keith made a face. “Sure, it's uncommon, but it's not like it's unheard of...”

“Yes, it is! I have never heard of it! Literally never! I've heard of tails and conjoined twins and extra toes, but two sets of baby teeth? _Keith_ , what the _fuck?_ ” Lance's voice rose as he gesticulated wildly with his hands.

Panic crossed Keith's face as Lance verged on hysterics.

“I mean,” he started, voice unsteady. “Um, I never played Pokémon? It uh—wasn't popular enough...? The tee—number two was totally the—the lie... Just—just yankin' your chain, ha... ah ha...”

That was without a doubt the worst coverup attempt Lance had ever heard in his life. Keith's averted eyes and bitten lip weren't particularly convincing, either, especially when Lance noticed his fingers clutching his knees in a tight grip. If anything, he looked... scared?

No, that couldn't be right.

Lance felt a hollow pang in his gut.

He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, calming his heart rate.

In a back corner of his mind, he wondered if this was why Keith always looked like he was waiting for the other foot to drop.

“Okay, so... not gonna lie, I'm still weirded out as hell. But, I mean, it's not like you've got any more teeth than normal now, so... so whatever, right?” Lance said, hands fumbling as much as his words. His face felt really warm.

Keith was silent as he faced him, expression flickering as he processed multiple emotions. Lance couldn't read them fully, but the eventual lax sagging of his muscles said enough.

 _Gratitude_ , Keith's face confirmed, as his bitten lip returned a smile. It was soft and shy, and Lance was not willing to dwell on how squishy it made his insides.

“SO!” he exclaimed abruptly, cocking a finger gun in Keith's direction. “Ready for more Facts Á La Lance?”

The finishing wink had Keith rolling his eyes with a groan, but the smile was still in his voice as he replied, “Let's hear it.”

 

* * *

 

A single set of footsteps echoed in the hallway as Tyrka escorted the Druid through the temple, its movements unheard. It glided behind her, a cold presence at her back.

Tyrka was all kinds of uncomfortable. Her petite hands were clasped tight in front of her, billowing indigo robes disguising her shivering. Before, she had made one-sided small talk on their way to the Gothi, but now she couldn't even entertain the idea. The details of their conversation were lost on her, but the way the Gothi shouted at the end was not. Even he and Priest Uheika never engaged in arguments _that_ heated, and Tyrka had witnessed numerous discussions where the two failed to see eye to eye. If the Druid could anger someone as compassionate as Naij-Enlid, she dreaded to imagine its intentions.

“That's quite the commotion in there...”

The Druid spoke in a murmur, but every word was perfectly clear.

Glancing to where the Druid indicated, she realized they were already passing the main sanctuary. The entrance wasn't far.

Finding her voice, she answered thinly, “Oh, yes, that's where the couples are currently undergoing their first trial.”

“Is that so...” it replied, almost in a hum that thrummed uncomfortably in her ribs.

A chill electrified the air, and Tyrka dropped to the floor as the Druid threw open the door.

 

* * *

 

Violet lightning stormed the sanctuary, violent sparks screaming through the air in jagged streaks, landing in explosive bursts as shrieks tore throats and eardrums. The couples all fell to the floor behind their pews, and temple workers sunk low to avoid electric skitters crossing the room.

Lance clamped a hand on Keith's shoulder, jerking him close to shout, _“What the fuck?”_

 _“Fuck if I know!”_ Keith yelled back, black hair catching in Lance's mouth from their proximity.

A robed figure emerged from behind the violet flashes at the entrance. The masked face swung slowly, scanning the panicked room as a clamor erupted. Several individuals stood, challenging the figure to try that shit again, their significant others either beside them or yanking them back down out of harm's way. Lance spied Priest Uheika from the corner of his eye; she was gesturing madly, directing her staff to engage in emergency procedures while keeping a steady eye locked on the intruder.

_“Lance, that's the Druid!”_

Lance snapped his head back around.

_“What?!”_

He took in the Druid—the dull brown robe, the ivory mask, the glowing eyes, and its arms raised in preparation for another assault.

Keith was in a crouch, unsheathing his bayard with dark eyes like flint—ready to strike.

Everyone was shouting. Uheika's voice was in there somewhere, but Lance couldn't make out the words. Was the Druid yelling, too? He couldn't tell. Their voices melded together in a muddy cacophony, fading to the backdrop as time slowed just for a moment, just enough for Lance to realize he had two options. One: pull Keith back to retreat. Or two: join him in the fray.

Well, option one was a lost cause.

Making eye contact, Lance retrieved his own bayard, fashioning it into his preferred laser rifle with a dextrous sleight of hand that surprised even him.

 _“What's your plan?”_ Lance asked in a yell, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

Keith stared dumbly for a moment before yelling back, _“Kick ass!”_

A bark of a laugh escaped Lance.

_“I'll cover you! Let's go!”_

 

* * *

 

A shit-eating grin swung wide on Keith's face, Lance's unquestioned support warm in his chest. He leapt to his feet as Lance hefted his weapon over the pew, taking a sniping position. Keith crossed the floor in moments, feet thudding in time with the adrenaline singing in his veins. Several others from the crowd were advancing with him in staggered intervals, only half of them visibly brandishing weapons with varied levels of finesse as they rushed the stationary target. A few were pretty fast.

Keith was faster.

He charged without pretense, flicking his blade low to the side, then arching back and up to slice down in a full swing. If he could get the most power out of his first hit, he'd gain a strong advantage.

If he hit.

His sword swept through open air, throwing him off-balance. He fell into a forward tumble, righting himself in a crouch and immediately raising his blade chest-high in a defensive stance. The other would-be defenders slowed, confused, and Keith was right there with them, seeking their attacker with urgent eyes.

Lightning zapped two figures in front of him, their bodies crumpling in convulsive shakes.

Eyes widened. _Behind—_

Spinning instantly, Keith lifted his sword up in a block above his forehead, both hands gripping the hilt as bright violet smacked against the blade, scattering in a ricochet before fizzling out.

Unamused by the block, the Druid sent another bolt of energy hurtling towards Keith. This one he dodged with a roll to the side, using the momentum to spring himself forward in another charge.

The instant he was in range, the Druid vanished, thin ribbons of purple smoke trailing in the air. Keith skidded to a halt, fully alert, waiting for the Druid to reveal itself once more.

 

* * *

 

Lance tsk'ed. His vantage point was not particularly ideal, target veiled by various bodies in motion—one of them his teammate, whose lack of armor did nothing to deter his swift advance. Resting the weight of the rifle back in his hands instead of the bench, Lance rose to his feet but kept his torso low, moving to the next row of pews in hope of locating a better angle.

The Druid's tactics had shifted quickly from an all-out assault to a haphazard guerilla style. The instant it was put on the defensive, it disappeared, only to reappear a short distance away and resume its attack. This strategy was repeatedly used against Keith, who couldn't get a hit in edgewise. Lance clicked his tongue in equal frustration. Every time he had it in his sights, the Druid would pull its teleporting trick and bring him back to square one. Keith had already redirected his charge several times, and if Lance was irritated, he couldn't imagine how badly Keith's impatient nerves were fried.  
Movement snagged his peripherals. Risking a glance away from the battle, he saw temple workers evacuating the couples through a side door leading to the courtyard, bodies hunched over as they hurried outside.

The Druid noticed, too.

Violet shot towards the far wall, right above the exit.

Lance didn't think. Reflex gripped his rifle and raised it, pulling the trigger the instant his eye filled the scope. The blue laser collided with the Druid's blast, forcing it off-course where it broke through a window instead of crushing their escape route.

The Druid's eyes glowed a sharp yellow. Lance barely had a second to inhale before it flashed into his space, raising an arm. An angry fuchsia enclosed the paladin. Abrupt pressure pushed up his chin, forcefully lifting him by the jaw and knocking out his breath. His body was like a sack of dumbbells, gravity straining to pull his weight down as his feet kicked empty air, toes barely brushing the floor. The pressure against his windpipe was strong but not steady. He gasped a stray breath, but it was shallow and cut off all too soon.

His bayard dropped, catching the Druid's attention as it clattered on the floor and reverted back from its rifle form.

“You're... a paladin of Voltron...?”

Lance couldn't answer.

 _“He's not the only one, asshole!”_ Keith shouted, leaping from a pew and slamming his sword down on the Druid's shoulder, breaking its concentration as Lance collapsed. Energy fizzled and popped as some sort of barrier broke under the hit, dark blood seeping into the robe. Lance coughed from the ground, forcing his lungs to readjust.

Keith held his ground, sword in both hands as he called out, “Lance! Lance, are you all right?!”

A desperate hacking sputtered in lieu of words.

“And _you_ —“ said the Druid, its yellow-eyed attention unequivocally on Keith as it clutched its injured shoulder with the opposite hand. “You, a paladin? Ridiculous! You fight like—“

Understanding flashed in its eyes, an abrupt screech of a laugh filling the room.

Keith winced, the sharp noise stinging his ears as he shifted his grip on the hilt. Lance was fumbling for his bayard, chest still shaking as he got his breathing under control.

The Druid's laughter died down into assorted chuckles, its gaze landing back on Keith.

“Oh, Haggar's going to love this...” it said lowly, purple surrounding its form before vanishing in thin air, wisps of violet dispersing in its place.

 

* * *

 

Lance would not say he was all right. There was a pounding in his ears and his vision blurred as his jerky fingers closed around his bayard. He pulled it close to his chest, which stuttered erratically with its newfound intake of oxygen. His body was still sprawled in an awkward heap on the ground, and he focused on righting himself.

“Lance! _Lance!_ ” a voice called, footsteps accompanying in a crescendo. A hand appeared under his back and another yanked him up by a forearm, forcing him upright. “Are you okay?” Keith asked, his bangs flopping over his face in sweaty clumps as his pretty eyes scoured for any serious damage.

…wait, pretty?

_Shut up, brain._

Lance grimaced, coughing out, “I will be.”

_Just as soon as you take the stars out of your eyes..._

“You sure? No signs of concussion?” Keith pressed.

_Do gay thoughts count?_

“Nah, I should be fine. Just let me breathe for a few,” Lance rasped, throwing in a smile for good measure. His neck sure was sore, but his respiratory system resumed business as usual—he'd be fine as soon as the oxygen circulated.

...and as soon as Keith stopped cradling him in his arms. _Again_ , if hearsay was to be believed. Lance's memory of that instance was lackluster, at best—he was barely conscious when he pulled the trigger on Sendak, much less when the apparent cradling took place. But he was definitely awake and alert now, and he was far too comfortable for his liking. What gave Keith the right to carry arms as secure as these? He was sweaty and too warm from recent exertion, but Lance couldn't bring himself to mind. He tried to mind—he really did, but he found himself almost nuzzling into Keith's chest, instead. Which, one: _gross_ , and two: _what the quiznack?_

This crush was ridiculous and he wanted out now.

Keith's hold on Lance only tightened as a commotion broke out across the hall. A burly assortment of uniformed aliens were the center of a disruption near the entrance. Looking over to assess the situation, Keith caught the eyes of the Balmeran couple instead, and they hurried toward them.

“Lance! Keith! Are you all right?” Rew cried, she and her fiancee crouching at their side, hooped earrings clinking faintly.

“Pray tell you are not injured?” Xye asked.

“Maybe a few bruises, but nothing serious,” Lance reassured, heart warm with all the concern.

Keith frowned at Lance, whose voice was still hoarse, but he turned back to the Balmerans, asking, “What's going on over there?” He tilted his head toward the hubbub at the entrance. Lance couldn't see much from where they sat, but he could hear plenty. It sounded... angry.

Xye glanced over before returning dryly, “It appears security has arrived.”

Keith snorted. “They're a little late.”

A wry smirk crossed Xye's features as she said, “Yes, Priest Uheika is assuredly giving them an earful.”

Rew waved all that aside. “Not that you needed them! That was wondrous! Lance—your shot was amazing! And Keith—you moved so fast! You two were stunning!” she gushed.

“It was nothing!” Lance preened, raising his chin proudly as smugness draped itself over his features like a familiar cloth.

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Nothing, huh?”

The hands holding Lance up abruptly withdrew, lending to an undignified squawk as he crashed back to the ground in a loud groan.

“Jerk,” he grumbled. “I'm injured...”

“Thought you said it was just a few bruises?”

Lance gaped at his partner, affronted by the _audacity_. Xye and Rew laughed lightly, quieting as a gray-skinned figure approached. He had several fanny packs close to bursting wrapped snug at the low waist, several short legs scampering up to meet them. He didn't wear the same robe as most of the temple workers, but his simple clothing was the same indigo hue.

“Hello-I'm-a-medic-is-anyone-injured?” he rushed breathlessly. The group turned their gazes on Lance, who sighed.

“Me, but it wasn't long enough to do any brain damage. I've probably got some bruises, but that's it,” he relented, fighting the urge to pout. It was a losing battle. Lance liked being cared for, sure, but being worried over? That drew the line too close to pity for his liking. The medic settled quickly by his side, opposite Keith.

“My name is Ivalar. _What_ wasn't long enough to induce brain damage now?” he asked, six-fingered hands resting atop his fanny packs.

“He was briefly strangled,” Keith answered, an edge to his voice at the last word. He moved to lift him again into an upright position, but Ivalar batted his hands away.

“Best not to jostle him in case there's any serious internal damage,” he advised kindly. Keith's face dropped at that, watching as the medic brought his fingers to brush gently along Lance's throat. “It feels a bit swollen, and I am seeing a few spots of discoloration. Does this hurt?”

Lance winced as fingertips pressed against his windpipe.

“I mean, yeah, a bit, but mostly it's just my muscles that are sore. And my voice, obviously, but I've had it worse just from yelling at my siblings. Nothing broken here, Doc,” he said, grinning.

Ivalar hummed thoughtfully and brought out a few tools from his pouch. While his vitals were being scanned, Lance chanced a look over at Keith with immediate regret. The red paladin was glaring a hole in his head.

“Stop it,” Keith ordered under his breath. Lance blinked, mind drawing a blank.

“Stop what?”

“Downplaying your injuries, idiot,” he muttered, scowling.

Lance opened his mouth to refute, but Ivalar interrupted, gray fingers punching in notes on a small tablet.

“Your vitals are fine. No life-threatening issues are present, but you will be uncomfortable for a while. Once everyone has been seen to, we will provide you with some pain medication. It's your decision to take it or not, but we'd like to provide the option, all the same.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, trying to convey as much sincerity as possible in the all too short phrase.

Ivalar nodded. “Please alert someone if your situation changes,” he said, scurrying off.

“Lance was lucky—he came out of this scuffle relatively fine. A number of others were actually hit by those bolts,” Xye commented, a frown souring as she watched the medic attend to another victim.

Rew added absently, “I wonder why the Druid was here in the first place... What did it want?”

The paladins shared a look, determination hardening their features.

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” Keith stated, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Halfway into the motion, Lance realized he was reaching for Keith's hand—as a show of solidarity, support, comfort—it could have been for any one of those reasons. He dropped it onto his abdomen, hoping it hadn't garnered any attention.

 _Stupid_ , he chided himself. _These feelings aren't gonna go away any faster by acting on them. Show some goddamn self-control._

But regardless of Lance's restraint, Keith completed the motion for him, laying his hand atop Lance's and squeezing gently. He breathed deeply, steeling himself (though Lance couldn't for the life of him discern _why_ ). Then, facing Lance, he offered a small smile that touched his eyes, alight with a careful tenderness so fragile Lance feared breathing would break it.

The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet—Lance felt his heart skip a beat. He tried to smile back, but it faltered with emotion heavier than he was prepared to carry. Looking away, he focused on arresting his heartbeat that was suddenly pumping much too fast, as if to make up for the irregularity a moment before.

Everything was so warm. He was glad to be on the ground because he was almost dizzy with it—dizzy with the weight of a single smile.

Biting his cheek, he pointedly kept his eyes trained away from Keith.

_This needs to stop._

 

* * *

 

Priest Uheika was furious. Security was late to the scene, arriving only _after_ several guests and several more of her staff were injured. All five of their medical team was rushing around the hall and seeing to everyone. Three couples had decided to call it quits on the spot, saying they'd find something more romantic.

And after all the varied emotional, mental, and physical injury, there was the damage on the building to be considered, as well.

Priest Uheika was not happy, and Naij-Enlid would hear all about it very soon. In fact, he'd be hearing about it right this minute if she didn't have so much else to attend to besides her temper. But her temper could wait. She could let it simmer on the backburner for now—she had more pressing responsibilities.

Of the injured, none had needed full hospitalization. Several had burns that were being treated, but some rest and hydration would do the most good.

Actually, injured or not, rest and hydration was a great prescription.

Uheika almost desired a nap more than that druid's head.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she took a moment to pray to Pona, asking the deity to grant her the patience of her lover to deal with what this day would bring her. Normally, Uheika felt that she herself was a very patient person. But on a day like today, she needed all the help she could get.

 

* * *

 

Shuffled outside to the courtyard with most everyone else, the paladins hung back near the rear of the scattered crowd. At Keith's insistence, Lance sat on a low bench. Keith stood next to him, leaning against the building's wall behind them.

That same spongy clover they had seen before entering the temple covered the courtyard in wide lavender swaths while golden poppies lined the dirt path that wound around the yard in a loose spiral. At the center, the path led into the thick grove of trees Lance had spotted earlier through the windows. It was bigger than he realized. The colony of trees huddled tight together like aspens back on Earth. The temple must have employed groundsmen because the undergrowth was minimal enough for Lance to actually see several layers of trees into the clustered forest.

Surveying the rounded garden some more, Lance caught glimpse of a few couples surreptitiously sneaking a poppy here and there in a shirt or behind an ear—one even wove several stems together in a tiny flower crown that soon adorned a lover's horn.

A wistful smile softened his features as he took in the lovey-dovey atmosphere secondhand. The scene was heartwarming. A little bittersweet, given how badly he wanted to experience that kind of love himself, but heartwarming all the same.

Keith nudged his shoulder with an elbow.

“What is it?”

“Over there,” he said with a head flick to the side. “A few people are leaving.”

Looking over, Lance saw that yes, a group of five—six?—people were leaving, several security guards at their sides as they reentered the temple.

Before he could attempt to decipher the situation further, Uheika's voice boomed, “EVERYONE! Your attention please!”

The courtyard went stock still, eyes and ears all abruptly tuned to the priest who stood atop a bench.

Uheika smiled sweetly, continuing in a clear voice, “Thank you, everyone.” Her face straightened then—or as much as her off-kilter mouth would allow. “I wish, first and foremost, to apologize for this hole in our security. The matter is being addressed, and I assure you we are doing everything in our power to ensure nothing like it happens again.

“However, if you and your beloved wish to seek a binding ceremony elsewhere, we graciously understand. I only ask that you allow members of our security team to escort you to your next destination in the interest of your safety.

“Either way, I ask you to come speak with me once you have made your decision. I shall remain outside here until I've had a chance to speak with you all. Thank you,” she ended, ducking her head in a short bow. Two workers leapt forward to assist her step down from the bench. Lance nearly forgot how short she was—the priest held herself so tall.

“So what do you think?” asked Keith.

Lance replied, “You mean whether we should stay or go?” He paused, catching Keith's nod. “We're staying, of course,” he answered flatly. “The Galra will be on us in a hot minute if we even try to leave. Hell, maybe the Druids, too. We haven't even touched base with the Castle yet—there's no way to guarantee they'd be able to rescue us successfully.”

Keith sighed, grumbling, “Can't argue with that logic...”

“But y'know,” Lance started. “This means we could probably leave at any time. I mean, now would be the most expected time, but we could blame delayed psychological trauma or something. The best part is, their security could escort us to a drop-off point for the others to retrieve us. So this rescue could go a lot smoother than we thought.”

He smiled broadly at Keith, glad to have found some sort of silver lining. Keith returned the smile with a small one of his own, then looked away. Following his gaze, Lance saw Priest Uheika approaching them.

“Keith, Lance!” she called as she came closer. Stopping in front of them, her five eyes looked up, locked on their faces. Warmth in her voice, she said, “I wanted to thank the two of you, especially. If it was not for the two of you, we may have suffered greater injury. If there is ever anything I or the temple can do for you, please make it known, and we shall do our utmost to assist you.”

The paladins nodded. Keith began murmuring something like “it was no problem,” but Lance cut him off with a kick to the ankle, talking over him right away.

“Thank you, Priest Uheika. Should we need that favor, we'll be sure to ask.”

Eyes lightening, Uheika replied, “Wonderful! Now, have you made a decision? Of course, if you still don't know, I will leave you for the time being.”

“We'd be honored for you to wed us, ma'am,” Lance answered, making a grab for Keith's hand as he spoke. Keith's face reddened at the unexpected hand-holding, but Uheika seemed to overlook it.

“It will be the Gothi performing the wedding ceremony,” she said with a chuckle. “But I am glad you have decided to stay. You're welcome to spend more time in the courtyard if you like, but they will be serving refreshments in the cafeteria soon. A little food and drink tends to calm the nerves.”

“Don't drool,” Keith mumbled, pinching the skin on Lance's hand.

“I'm not! Food would just be really good right now, alright?” he defended, sulking only slightly.

“Oh, but before you go too far—we were interrupted during our trial, but there is something I wanted you two to think about,” Uheika said, bringing their attention back to her. “Communication is a difficult, constant element of any relationship—romantic or otherwise. Honesty is a factor in that, so you must be open with each other. Being on the same page can save you from a lot of grief, yes?” She didn't wait for an answer. “This will take some thought on both of your parts. I want you both of you to think of a question. If either of you could ask one question to determine someone's suitability for marriage, what would your question be? Regardless of who your partner is now, what one question would you ask to decide if you could spend the rest of your life with them? ...Understand?”

Eyebrows drawn together in thought, Lance and Keith both mumbled affirmatives.

Uheika smiled. “Good! The Gothi will visit with you regarding your questions for each other later.” She patted each of their shoulders before moving on her way. A quiet befell them in her absence.

Keith was the first to break it.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but this... is this relationship counseling?”

Lance let out a long, pained groan.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my prof. said both caspaicin and capsaicin are accepted forms of spelling, but google assures me capsaicin is correct


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow, my apologies, guys--this is so much later than i intended T_T
> 
> my vacation was AMAZING and damn i wanna go back!  
> but then i came back, went to training for a week, came back to move apartments, and then we fired someone at work so i wound up putting in a looooot of extra hours, then i went to anime midwest, and then family visited, and now?? i'm here???  
> it's been a crazy busy summer, guys. but i'm excited to get back to writing on a regular basis!
> 
> and season three comes out next weekend!! :D (anyone else take a day off work just to watch it? lol)
> 
> s/o to tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and Southwesterndjinn for their never-ending support <3 (gosh they're such awesome ppl!!)
> 
> AND SHOUT OUT TO YOU ALL FOR STICKING WITH ME <3 i appreciate it more than you know!!

“...do you think it's safe?”

Keith stared at Lance, who in turn was staring at the alien fruit bundled in his arms. It was similar to a bunch of grapes, except each crimson berry emerged from the center of a tiny yellow blossom. The fruit wasn't the only edible item he'd nabbed; nestled in his assortment were several small cylindrical containers decorated with bright, colorful designs and not much else—like alien Pringles cans. The bottled drinks in Keith's arms weren't much better, which he shifted every few minutes to maintain their precarious balance.

Escaping the cafeteria with their spoils had been no easy feat, especially with Lance's penchant for attention, but Keith managed to drag him away relatively easily. After so much excitement, Keith wanted nothing more than a chance to sit and process everything they'd gone through, and as much as Lance preened under the spotlight, he looked like he could use some quiet, too.

...or maybe Keith was just projecting. In his defense, while Lance was all too happy to boast about his shot, he also kept bunching up the fabric of his top over his neck in a poor attempt at shielding his splotching bruises from view. The apparent insecurity rubbed Keith the wrong way, and being reminded of Lance's wounds soured his countenance.

Making quick work of loading their arms with goodies, Keith shuttled them out the door as efficiently as he could manage.

Once they were far enough away from the throngs of activity in the cafeteria, the paladins took a seat on a bench to the side of the hall. It curved slightly as it hugged the wall in its gentle embrace of the courtyard at their backs; a large window stood behind them—the sunlight too bright to face comfortably. Keith felt the rays pooling over his shoulder blades, a pleasant warmth humming over his skin.

Now, having had time to reflect on his decisions, Lance was clearly focusing on other, questionably more important things than fielding strangers' inquiries—like: the food.

Expression flat, Keith bit out, “What.”

Gesturing poorly to the fruit in his arms, Lance reiterated, “This! Do you think it's safe to eat?”

“Why are you asking _after_ you grabbed it?”

Lance rolled his eyes at Keith's snark, replying, “Hungry people don't make smart decisions, Keith. It's amazing I asked this question at all.”

Shrugging, Keith answered, “Didn't you already eat a few of those anyway?”

“Well, yeah, but there's a big difference between a little food poisoning and a lot food poisoning—one is uncomfortable and the other is death.”

Keith struggled to repress a sigh with limited success. “Whatever, just accept your fate already.” He was unwilling to relive the incident from the night before, but there was no convenient way to discern its toxicity. And with the planet being home to a major intergalactic hub, he couldn't imagine the temple knowingly putting out anything fatal to other alien races.

With a forlorn look at the fruit, Lance nodded. “If I die, don't tell Hunk it was food. Just... it'd be too much for the big guy.”

“You have my word,” Keith answered, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A comfortable silence encompassed their munching. Keith hadn't even realized how hungry he was until he was halfway through one of those Pringles-like containers of... something like pretzels. Some pieces were chewier than others, though, so maybe pretzels weren't the most apt comparison. Regardless, they were tastier than they had any right being, especially considering Keith couldn't place the flavor other than “probably umami.”

Several minutes into stuffing their faces, they heard footsteps. Looking up, they saw the medic Ivalar scuttling towards them with several tiny bottles in hand, gray robes flapping as he hurried.

“Oh, good! I found you!” he huffed, coming to a halt in front of them.

Keith held out one of the many bottles in his arms to the medic, which Ivalar gratefully accepted. Before drinking from it, he turned to Lance.

“I have your painkillers here. My apologies for the delay—we touched base with the Health & Hygiene Federation to confer over your biology to ensure we could provide an appropriate dosage. We believe two pills is ideal, but you may only want to take one to start with.”

Taking the proffered bottle—maybe more of a vial—Lance shook it absently to gauge how many drugs he was receiving. The yellow pills were smaller than the Tylenol he took back home, and they filled almost a third of the container.

“Any side-effects?” Lance asked.

Ivalar replied, “Drowsiness is common, but not much else. If your body rejects it, please let us know immediately. This amount should last you the rest of the day and into tomorrow—please do not take more than four at a time. If you're worried something's wrong, any clergy member can contact me.”

“Thanks, dude,” Lance said, tossing out a bright smile. “I really appreciate it!”

The smile wasn't even aimed at him, but Keith felt a warm burst of affection in his chest at the sight.

Luckily, he didn't have time to dwell on it as Lance grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet as Ivalar scurried off down the hall. He'd barely wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion before Lance spoke up.

“C'mon, if this medicine is gonna knock me out, I'd definitely rather be in our room where there's a bed.”

Keith complied as Lance dragged him away, his head too busy replaying the phrase “our room” from Lance's mouth on repeat.

 

* * *

 

Keith peeked into the closet. _Huh, they took our clothes to clean, after all._

“Man, these are smaller than the kid-size pills back home.”

“Yeah, well, the guy still said just to start with one,” Keith replied.

“Hmm...”

 _I hope we can get those back before we leave_ , Keith thought, shutting the door.

Turning around, he saw Lance pop not one pill, but three.

 

* * *

 

Ivalar had just concluded delivering the medication to his various patients when his communicator trilled from his fanny pack.

Digging it out, he answered, “Yes, this is Ivalar.”

“Hello! I have a distressed—um—individual here—“

A third voice broke in, “—knew the dosage was two but he took three! Three! And passed out!”

Recognition kicked in.

“This is regarding Lance, yes?” Ivalar asked.

“Yes!”

“While he took more than recommended, it is not yet cause for concern. He should wake by the next meal without any problems. If he does not, contact me again and we'll go from there.”

“O-okay...”

“Thank you,” said the cleric.

“No problem,” said Ivalar, hanging up. Easy problems were his favorite.

 

* * *

 

Coran pursed his lips beneath his mustache, orange whiskers tickling. His opponent was craftier than expected, but he supposed ten thousand years warranted an advanced AI system far more developed than the peak technology of his day. Still, there was only one card in his hand worth playing.

He raised an eyebrow in quiet challenge as he placed the Ten of Klanmüirl atop the growing stack of cards as their game progressed.

Sputnik played the card of the Green Lion.

Looking frantically back down at his hand, Coran found nothing high enough to beat it. The highest card in his hand was a measly Seven of Yalmor. He slumped in his seat in defeat, cards fluttering onto their makeshift table. Sputnik trilled several victorious beeps.

“Yes, yes, congratulations and all that,” Coran said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What do you say—best out of thirty-five?”

Before Sputnik could sound an affirmative, a viewscreen popped up beside them, announcing its presence with an equally abrupt series of beeps filling the room. Stumbling a bit from surprise, Coran rushed up to answer the incoming call from the... red paladin, it seemed.

The instant Keith's feed appeared on the screen, Coran declared, “Ah, Number Four! Decent for us this time?”

He blinked at the question before recalling their previous state of dress, flushing in embarrassment. “Yes,” he coughed. “Where's everyone else?”

“First things first! We retrieved the Red Lion—not sure if we got to tell you before our last call cut out.”

Keith relaxed at the news, saying, “Happy to hear it. The others...?”

“Resting! They'd gone over a day without sleep, you know. Not much we can do with anyone as exhausted as they were. Of course, soldiers _can_ be trained to function without sleep for long periods of time, but given how you lot are still growing, I don't believe that's ideal...” Taking a second to glance from side to side and ensure he was alone on the deck, he leaned toward the screen conspiratorially with a hand to the side of his mouth. “I didn't tell you this, but Allura can be quite harsh without some shuteye! I thought it best to nip it in the bud before too many feelings were hurt.”

Keith wrinkled an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly before simply nodding.

Returning to a proper stance, Coran chirped, “So how's the temple? Find anything?”

Keith adopted a pinched look. “A druid attacked us.”

“ _What?_ How did it get in the temple?!”

Coran's expression was just as comically flabbergasted as could be predicted, but the question still drew a scowl out of the paladin.

“The front door? We think it went to talk to the Gothi—about what, we don't know—but then it just appeared in the main sanctuary and attacked everyone there. Even if the Gothi was going to sell us out, he wouldn't have risked the safety of everyone else like that. I'm not sure if something went wrong, or if it planned on attacking from the beginning.”

“Did it get what it wanted?”

“We don't know,” Keith growled, clearly frustrated with the situation. “It didn't even tell us its goal—just stormed the place and left.”

“Wait, Keith...” Coran paused, realization hitting him. “Keith—where's Lance?”

“He's here,” Keith answered, stepping aside and adjusting the camera to show Lance asleep on the bed behind him. “He had a close encounter with the Druid, and the temple gave him some pain medication for it. They said drowsiness is a side-effect, and he crashed pretty hard as soon as he hit the bed.”

Coran frowned. “How high was the dosage? An overdose could be dangerous—you should inquire—“

“Already did, Coran. It was higher than it needed to be, but he's not in any danger. Should wake up in a matter of hours.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Coran exhaled, hand to his chest. “What else?”

“Currently? The Druid scared a few couples off, so since the temple is escorting them outside, Lance thinks they can escort us when we establish a retrieval point.”

“Capital idea!” Coran commended. “Once we can plan around the Galra, that shouldn't be a problem. They've begun to settle in several quadrants—I believe the city was taking issue with them, which is why their soldiers were spread everywhere earlier despite already knowing your location. Hard to organize in unfriendly territory!”

Keith frowned. “There's something weird about this place, Coran. They fear the Galra, but they spit on them at every turn. Why hasn't Zarkon conquered it like so many other planets?”

Coran thought on it a moment, forefinger and thumb tugging on his mustache, before answering with a shrug, “My guess? Pure bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo.”

Keith pressed on, “But Zarkon doesn't care about politics, Coran! Everything the Empire does is done with force, not diplomacy. He doesn't care about words as long as he's got power.”

Sighing, Coran replied, “Keith, I agree it's strange, but it's been ten thousand years for me. The universe is a different place, and I can't claim to know the current political climate that we're acting outside of. I can only go by what I knew before, in the hope that some things don't change.”

Keith glanced down, earnest expression softening. “I'm sorry, Coran. I just... I don't know either, and it's a lot to take in.”

Coran nodded. “That it is, but we'll just have to do the best we can. In the meantime, I've got some paladins to wake, and we've got some planning to do! Contact us as soon as Lance is awake, and we'll go from there!”

“Over and out.”

 

* * *

 

Having ended the call, Keith dropped his wrist and glanced back at the bed as he sat on the edge. Lance was snoozing so soundly he hardly moved—though given how sprawled he was, there wasn't much space for him to move to. He looked like a noodle-y starfish, limbs all akimbo. He wasn't even snoring, but Keith had already learned that was only a matter of time.

A fondness gripped Keith's chest, but he squashed it to the side and turned away. The warmth was nothing more than relief—that was it.

In the current calm, Keith mulled over his options. He had time and no distracting Lance to fill it. He could think about their temple-assigned relationship question, but that felt like homework. Emotional homework. Yeah, no, he'd find something else to do with his time, thanks. Hopefully they'd be gone before the Gothi approached them.

_Hopefully Coran gets the others moving quickly. The sooner we get off this planet, the better. What do we do if the Druid comes back before then? We won, but it's still alive to fight another day. What if it brings friends? Lance and I make a good team—he said so, himself—but if fighting one druid was difficult, any more would be a nightmare. Or what if it brings Galra reinforcements? We can't let ourselves actually get captured or there'll be two lions out of commission and no one to fly them, meaning the team couldn't form Voltron to face off Zarkon or any of those awful robeasts, and we couldn't even actually defeat that one on the Balmera—what if another one of those monsters came back?_

What-if's soon spiraled into worst case scenarios, Keith's leg shaking in agitation as he ran through life's possible curve balls. His molars were softly grinding against his tongue when a sharp nick on his thumb stole his attention.

He removed his hand from his pocket, where apparently it had been treating the crystal like a worry stone, one of its corners digging deeper into his flesh than intended.

Bringing his cut thumb to his lips, he examined the crystal as it rested in his other palm. It reminded him of an amethyst back on Earth, but the coloring was much richer. While the tips were foggy, the rock gradated to a stronger intensity in the center. Sliding the silver chain around his palm, he held up the crystal and watched the facets glinting violet in the light.

“So you're supposed to help me find things, right? 'Find opportunities,' I think the old lady said?” he mumbled, eyeing the crystal. “Let's start with an emergency exit.”

 

* * *

 

Priest Uheika and Naij-Enlid strolled through the main hall where the skirmish had taken place, assessing the wreckage. The Gothi was preparing himself for the numerous complaints he had no doubt would soon be thrown his way. Uheika and several other priests had already communicated the most important details, of which there were many, leaving him to survey the aftermath, himself. The damage consisted of several overturned pews (some with burn marks), a door blown from its hinges, a shattered window, and sections of broken tile. All told, the physical damage was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

The psychological damage, however...

“How many couples will I wed today, Uheika?” Naij-Enlid asked with a sigh.

Priest Uheika glanced his way and returned to concluding figures with a cleric before providing him with her undivided attention. He stared forlornly at the altar, which miraculously escaped harm, the temple's young tree continuing to grow strong under Pona's love.

“We began with nineteen. Now we are at fourteen,” Uheika answered blithely.

“That is more than I thought would remain.”

“I've been led to believe a few couples found the excitement romantic.”

“Oh? We have some adventurous souls amongst us?”

“Apparently so.”

“Hmm.... Well, that's something to keep in mind.”

They circled the sanctuary, jotting notes on what could be fixed and what needed to be replaced. The Gothi cringed inwardly at the thick stack of paperwork the priests had already produced, all of which would be delivered to his desk in record time.

But as much as they had to do to clear up this catastrophe, the temple had a lot to do yet for their holiday's main event.

As they came full circle, Neij-Enlid asked, “Uheika, is everyone ready to be fitted? The tailoring team should arrive soon.”

“They should be, but I need to ensure everyone has their own token for the ceremony. I believe several couples only have one, so that will need to be addressed first.”

“Ah, I see. Do what needs to be done, then. I'll be visiting with everyone for their questions after the next meal.”

“And until then?”

“Until then...” the Gothi released another sigh. “I'll be contacting the other temples to see what can be done about the soldiers on our doorstep.”

Uheika nodded. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she murmured, “May Pona guide you.”

“May love be with you,” the Gothi returned as they separated towards their own respective duties.

 

* * *

 

“It's been what—four hours? Five? What'd those idiots do now?” Pidge grumbled, rubbing the grit from her eyes. Sputnik hovered obediently next to her as they entered the bridge where the others had already gathered near a viewscreen displaying the city below. Allura and Shiro were both staring hard at the screen. Hunk was in the same boat as Pidge, still shrugging off the last vestiges of sleep.

Upon noticing Pidge's entrance, Coran declared, “All right, princess and paladins! Let's begin the debriefing!”

“Please,” Shiro murmured.

Coran continued, “Now, both boys are fine, but it seems a druid did attack the temple a few hours ago.”

“ _What?!_ ” Shiro and Allura shouted in unison. Hunk's face paled.

“There was a scuffle, after which Keith contacted the castle.”

“Just Keith?” Hunk asked, worry evident.

“I repeat: both grounded paladins are fine! Yes, Keith was the only one to contact us—Lance is sleeping off some pain medication. He will wake up in a few hours,” Coran clarified.

“Oh no, how bad was he hurt to need pain meds? Meds that put him under for hours? Coran, what kind of threat are we up against now?!” Hunk fussed, his nerves getting the better of him as he latched onto Coran's elbow.

“Hunk, control yourself!” Coran snapped. “You can ask them for details later! What's important is that they should be able to meet up with us with minimal danger once we establish a retrieval point!”

“Why's that?” inquired Shiro.

Shaking Hunk off his arm, Coran answered, “They're able to secure an escort from the temple, which should help this mission run much smoother. It's practically a disguise in itself—why would Voltron's paladins need an escort, after all? All we need to do is decide where to pick them up in the next few hours.”

“Wonderful!” Allura exclaimed, reevaluating the map. “Okay everyone, so the temple is here, and the Galra are stationed here, here, here, here, and here,” she said, pointing to the locations as she spoke, soaking in their rapt attention towards their new challenge.

 

* * *

 

 _This time, for sure..._ Keith thought. The palm he held out in front of himself faced down as the pendant dangled from the silver chain securely wrapped around his gloved hand as it swayed in tiny circles.

Seeing as this was at least the seventeenth time he'd attempted dowsing with the alien crystal, he'd become relatively attuned to its energy—warm but on edge, a buzzing just below the surface. Marking a circle underneath was unnecessary at this point; he simply felt out the crystal's directions and let its energy guide him. In the market, the crystal was unfamiliar—foreign, like another language that shared vocabulary but not the grammar. Or maybe it was more appropriate to compare the difference as American English to Irish English—they might speak the same language, but wow, there was definitely an adjustment period to understanding that accent.

Keith always had a knack for auras and energies, but using them to seek out something specific was a lot more difficult than letting his intuition lead the way.

After all, that was how he discovered the Blue Lion.

Shiro, too.

Lance would scoff at such an explanation. The corner of Keith's mouth quirked up at the thought. _He makes the dumbest faces sometimes._

Closing his eyes, Keith bowed his head slightly as he cleared his head, preparing to focus on dowsing. _Emergency exit... emergency exit... we just need a way_ out...

He pictured leaving the temple, returning to the castle where their team awaited them with open arms, him and Lance fleeing the hordes of Galra soldiers and druids on their heels, Lance's palm hot against his own as they sprinted to safety...

The crystal swung in several wide rotations before slowing to a halt, pointedly leaning towards his two o'clock. Eyes shut, he followed the warm pull of the crystal's energy as it guided him through the temple's halls. He hadn't run into anyone yet while performing a dowsing; either no one was around, or they moved to the side of him. (He probably looked strange, but he could always play the alien card.)

Eventually, maybe ten minutes later, the crystal's energy faded. His footsteps slowed with it, coming to a halt right as it disappeared. Lowering the pendant, he lifted his lids to see where the crystal had taken him.

Keith instantly narrowed his eyes.

Part of him was unsurprised at the result. A larger part was very annoyed. He'd spent the better part of an hour—maybe two—starting from different areas of the temple, seeking an exit, a safe escape, but every dowsing session had the same result.

Not an exit.

Lance.

An aggravated exhale shook through Keith's lungs, one hand dragging across his scalp while the other cradled the offensive item causing him so much grief. The crystal glinted, deceptively innocent winks in the light. Keith's glare and pursed lips did nothing to deter its decision.

“Keith! How is Lance? Is he not with you?”

Looking up, he saw Rew and Xye approaching him from further down the hall, stripes of sunlight blinking on their bulkier figures. He wasn't sure why he hadn't heard them sooner—maybe he was a little too focused on his task. Finished dowsing, he returned the crystal to its spot around his neck.

“He's fine, sleeping.”

Xye peered at him curiously. “Why are you not with him? Is your culture one which forbids sharing a room before marriage—even on the day?”

“No, no... I mean—sort of? Depends on the human, but that—that's not why,” Keith stumbled out, hands fumbling with gestures. “He just needs his rest to feel better, and I—I need to be moving to feel better. Sitting still... doesn't suit me.”

It wasn't much, but the admission left him feeling uneasy, a niggling suspicion he'd divulged too much of himself. _Ridiculous_ , he scolded himself. _You can stand to share one thing about yourself—it's not that big of a deal._

“Hm, that is true—you become antsy quickly,” Rew commented.

Xye nodded along. “Yes, you are fast to act. But action is not always best, you know—just make sure you are there when Lance wakes up, yeah?”

Keith blinked. “Oh, right... Yeah, I guess...”

The Balmerans shared a look.

“Keith...” Rew began, tone gentle.

“Oh, we are going to speak terribly out of turn,” Xye murmured, eyes downcast.

Rew forged on,“It is not be my place to say so, but... are you sure you two are ready for this—for marriage? You seem happy together, but... very unsure of each other.”

Panic overtook Keith's face. Did they know he and Lance weren't a real couple? If the jig was up, this was a terrible time for Lance to be unconscious. What was the next step? They never planned for anything! Did the Balmerans want to trade silence for the coordinates to Shay? The paladins didn't have anything else they could possibly want.

“What are you getting at?” Keith asked, making an effort to hold his voice steady.

“Like... Rew and I have been together for so long, we are always aware of the other, yes? We often know what the other is thinking before anything is said. We know each other's habits and body language by heart,” Xye expounded. “Keith, you and Lance... It is clear you care very much for each other, but... you are so new to each other, still.”

Rew nodded, adding softly, “We would never dream of telling you not to marry—that is your own decision, of course. And you have been chased by the Empire and dealt with their druids already—we do not know your full story. But... as friends, we ask you to consider this commitment. You can celebrate Palentine's Day as lovers, as well—you need not be spouses to join the festivities.”

Keith's jaw had gone slack, his mouth struggling to blurt out, “We—we're friends?”

Xye brought a hand to her mouth in mock shock.

Rew merely grinned, saying, “New friends, but friends all the same. Unless you don't want to be..?”

“I do!” Keith yelled in earnest, his voice louder than intended. He winced at his own volume as it echoed down the hall.

The Balmerans laughed.

“Maybe you should check on Lance now to be sure you did not just wake him,” Xye said, giggling into her hand.

Flushed in embarrassment, Keith nodded. They turned to part ways, but before the Balmerans disappeared, Keith said, “Um... thank you, for the advice with me and Lance. This um... came about a lot, uh, faster than expected. So... thanks.”

Smiling, they waved in acknowledgment as they disappeared down the hall.

Keith faced the door to their chambers. The door seemed a lot more intimidating now for some reason. Still, dowsing had clearly returned him here every time, so maybe he had reason to be here, after all. In any case, the crystal sure wasn't going to give him any other options.

With a fresh breath in the depth of his lungs, he pushed open the door.

 

* * *

 

As it happened, babysitting an unconscious Lance was incredibly boring. He'd barely even shifted in his sleep. Although the snoring was in full swing, it really wasn't that loud—just soft, steady puffs of air scraping gently against his larynx.

His bruised larynx.

Keith's own throat tightened.

He decided to busy himself with a few stretches and basic exercises, falling into a limited semblance of his normal routine. Focusing on the simple, repetitive movements helped clear his mind. Given that Lance's unconscious state was a drugged one, Keith didn't bother keeping his noise in check as he bounced around the room, engaging in a series of squats, jumping jacks, bicycles, and burpees—among others. In between sets, he paced the room to regulate his breathing and steadily drained a bottle of something questionably comparable to Powerade with tapioca pearls (though that wasn't quite right, either). It was weird, but it kept him hydrated. He was just glad he'd had the foresight to pick up an armful of the bottles earlier at all.

Worrying was useless at this point, but he absently hoped the others had decided on a retrieval point. The planet's inhabitants were nice enough, but the circumstances were less than desirable. And as well-intentioned as it was, Xye and Rew's conversation unnerved him. They had only talked a handful of times, but they had already picked up on the paladins' lacking relationship. Had Keith and Lance actually been dating, their advice would have been incredibly insulting. But as it was, Keith could only be thankful that by some stroke of luck, their ruse hadn't been found out yet.

His musing was cut short by an abrupt knocking at the door. Puzzled, he walked over and opened the door, expecting maybe Ivalar or the Balmerans—someone who wanted to check up on Lance, surely.

“Hello, Keith,” Priest Uheika greeted, a kind smile on her face below her five glittering eyes. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Um, s-sure, of course,” Keith stammered. “What is it?”

“It's in regards to the upcoming ceremony. May I see the crystal Lance bequeathed to you?”

“Er, yeah, one tick,” he said, pulling it off from over his neck before handing it over.

Uheika examined it closely, a fond look in her eyes as she rolled the crystal atop her palm. Keith couldn't be sure what she was looking for.

“Lance gave this to you, yes?”

The question felt awfully pointed. A lie or not, answering in the negative felt like the wrong answer. That, and as the Balmerans had already brought to his attention, they needed to try harder at pretending to be a couple.

“Uh, yes...”

Returning it, Uheika said, “A beautiful gift. Your fiancé has excellent taste, Keith.”

Keith couldn't stop the flush across his cheeks at the word “fiancé” if he'd tried.

Uheika continued, “Pardon my nosiness, but for our ceremony, we require each individual to have their own token from their betrothed. I understand if it's not in your customs, but have you given Lance a similar gift?”

Keith debated lying his way out of this question, too, but something told him a lie to this question could potentially come back to bite him in the ass. He stuck with honesty.

“N-no, I'm afraid not.”

“Don't fret, dear. I have two solutions for you. First, we could break the crystal in half, one side for each of you.”

Keith paled at the thought. While the crystal had yet to lead him where he wanted to go, he still had invested hope in it. He wasn't ready to cut his losses so soon.

“Or,” she continued, “We could escort you to the jeweler's to purchase an equal gift.”

“That... but what about the Galra?” Keith asked.

“We have disguises and guards who can chaperone you safely. You won't be the only one making this little trip—a few others are also in need of a token for their beloved,” she assured. “It is not uncommon for us to send a few of our intended spouses out to obtain tokens, but this cycle is certainly providing us with more obstacles than normal. Still, we intend to see that you all receive a worthwhile wedding experience.”

Keith glanced back at his companion, still out cold. Separating made him nervous, especially since a druid had already entered the temple once. Lance couldn't be depended on to protect himself if he wasn't conscious to do so.

On the other hand, Lance would be out for a while yet, and Keith had absolutely nothing to do until he awoke. At least he could burn some restless energy by taking this little field trip. While guards and chaperones were more conspicuous than he'd like, it would give him a chance to get reacquainted with the city to prepare himself to meet up with the others later. And Keith had no doubt he could hold his own, if necessary.

Facing Priest Uheika, he nodded.

“When are we leaving?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singing* one perfect pebble, just one humble stone~ but oh, what a stone can do~ it means that i have one love forever, and one love alone~ a now and forever with you~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg this chapter is so late D: (understaffed workplaces suck, guys. i sincerely hope none of you have to deal with that.)
> 
> bUT HERE COMES SEASON 4 (released the same day as my friend's wedding sooooo guess i have to wait a Whole. Day. T_T) 
> 
> tumblr users Cool-Dad-Squad and SouthWesternDjinn are so supportive--i cry :')
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your continued support--I appreciate you all so, so much. Words just aren't enough. <3

“I hear you have news for me, Valhol,” Haggar prompted, her yellow eyes narrow and shrewd. Although she was always at Zarkon's side, not all reports needed to be delivered directly to the Emperor. In fact, it was for the best if she intercepted the majority—especially those from her own sect.

“Yes, Haggar,” the Druid replied, pausing to allow a shallow bow.

Haggar gestured for the Druid to continue. From what she could see, the room Valhol occupied was scarcely lit by dim sconces skirting the walls, shading the space in a weak magenta—nothing like the sleek lighting of Zarkon's ship, built into the walls and tracing the structural design like an architect's pencil. Her own hologram floated steadily from a low pedestal in the center of the room, her hunched figure just high enough for her to look down upon her newest informant.

Valhol began, “Shortly after Sergeant Nizpal cornered two of Voltron's paladins in a local Temple of the Three Deities, our chapter received word from the Health & Hygiene Federation; one of our contacts discovered an individual at the same temple who was part-Galra. In an effort to further our understanding of Galra physiology, we proceeded to acquire the individual for research purposes. However, our excursion to the temple... did not go as planned.”

“How so?” Haggar asked, the corners of her mouth in a persistent downturn.

“Voltron's paladins interfered, but we now understand this was unavoidable, as one of the paladins was our target from the beginning.”

Haggar turned sharply, staring down Valhol with calculating eyes as she murmured, “One of the paladins... is part-Galra?”

Valhol nodded, saying, “I believe it is the red one—that was the color of the weapon I faced.”

“So you faced the paladins in combat?”

“I...yes, Haggar. Briefly.”

The Druid winced under her stare. She noted its slack shoulder.

“That was foolish,” she stated. “Now our only way inside the temple will be by force.”

“My apologies, Haggar, it all happened so quickly...!”

Haggar scoffed, “And that is a child's excuse. You are dismissed, Valhol. _Vrepit sa_. _”_

“ _Vrepit sa_ ,” the Druid echoed, head low in a bow as she ended the hologram.

Haggar drummed her fingers against her temple rhythmically, mulling over the new information. It was intriguing— _promising_ , but how to proceed...

Three attendants waited at the door, bowing lightly as she approached. They fell in line behind her as she exited the chamber, robes swishing and smothering their footsteps.

“Daoksi,” Haggar addressed, “I need you to maintain visual on this temple—if anyone leaves the premises, you are to inform me immediately. Kollira, get me in contact with Sergeant Nizpal. And Nirocz,” she said, turning to the last, “Prepare my ship.”

The Druids nodded, a hushed _“Vrepit sa”_ hissed under their breaths.

 

* * *

 

“Watch your step,” the guard warned. Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes. _No shit, it's a dark hole in the ground,_ he thought as he dropped down into the tunnel below, landing in a crouch.

Apparently there was a secret passageway leading outside the temple, after all, and it was underground—just as Lance suspected. Keith was still mentally debating whether to give Lance the satisfaction of being right. However, there were no stairs leading to it, and they never would have found it on their own—they had already passed it by.

The closet full of tubes— _roots_ , Keith had now learned—took cues from the hairy little critters twittering around them, who were groundskeepers, of sorts, for the communal trees via the roots. A short grove had grown into the building with half their roots above the surface where the groundskeepers tended to them. The striped trees were convoluted underground, their roots vast in quantity, some even larger than their trunks. With a few chittering words from their caregivers, the roots shifted, squirming and rearranging until an earthy tunnel was formed to allow the temple-goers passage. The roots moved aside to reveal the entrance, reminiscent of a trapdoor. Except there was no actual trapdoor, and no stairs or ladder leading down.

It was simply a hole.

Keith's eyes adjusted quickly as he stood upright and joined the rest of the group. The air was stale and the floor uneven. As they progressed, they came across several sections that were narrow or had a low ceiling, which had them marching in a rough single-file line. Keith's vision was decent in the dark, so he didn't mind leading alongside one of their two guards at the front of the pack. Four other guests followed behind, making small conversation as they trodded along—mostly regarding tokens for their fiancés.

“Phaike'ali would adore a tiara—and she'd look stunning in one, too,” Hir'auld mused dreamily, teal scales reflecting every bit of light. It was very distracting having a walking disco ball around, and Keith was glad being in front meant his eyes weren't continually subjected to the glittering alien. Some of the light still danced ahead of him, faint speckles against the walls.

“I'm hoping to find a zupali anklet for Nithiway,” Uwithyea said, her own anklets jangling with each step of her six hooves. She wore several layers of skirts that hushed the sound, but the whoosh of the fabric added its own tone to the muted harmony.

“A simple ring would suit my darling Vaquille,” said Zileahe, who was barely visible beneath the multiple layers of cloth. Earlier, she had mentioned something about skin unused to one sun, much less two. Keith could only wonder what sort of environment she came from that could support life without a sun.

“What about your fiancé, Keith?” Mar asked. He was generally humanoid in shape, but his skin was covered in pink peach fuzz, softening his square jaw. “Maybe a piercing to compliment those blue eyes of his?”

Keith frowned, mumbling, “Maybe... We'll see, I guess.”

Something in the alien's tone irked him. While he reluctantly agreed Lance might look good with a piercing, he wasn't about to make the blue paladin pierce his face for the sake of a fake relationship. Maybe he could get a matching necklace? That was cute and coupley, right? Did Lance even like jewelry? Shiny things seemed up his alley, but Keith had never seen him wear any...

Keith abruptly scowled to himself, thinking, _What does it even matter if he likes it? As soon as we get off this planet, he'll just throw it away, anyway. It's not like he values anything from me..._

His chest felt all squirrely, like restless knots that just got tighter when he tried to loosen them. It was an aggravating ache that happened every now and again since they left Earth, but he still couldn't really pinpoint the cause. He suspected a stray element in the alien air might be causing his immune system to act up, but that was a mild theory he had yet to examine. Maybe his body wasn't coping well with the daily environmental shifts in gravity, air pressure, or a myriad of other possibilities.

By all accounts, it was something he should probably bring up to Coran, but the Altean had enough on his plate without Keith's occasional minor chest pains.

Besides, while he didn't have a cure to make the problem disappear, he could always treat the symptoms with his favorite over-the-counter prescription: a distraction.

Usually, said distraction involved the training room, but since that was unavailable, Keith made do by focusing on the details of his surroundings, as limited as they might be. Sure, the tunnel was dark, but their guard—a blockheaded fellow, in Keith's opinion—had a flashlight that filled the space up to a few yards ahead with a dim, orange light. Not much was illuminated aside from the roots of varying sizes embedded in the packed dirt of the tunnel walls. Steady conversation from the four engaged aliens behind him almost drowned another muffled sound Keith barely picked up on. It was muted, as if on the other side of the tunnel's walls. Perking his ears, he strained to listen closer.

It was a scuttling, chirping sound—and it was getting louder.

The guard halted their procession. Keith glanced at him curiously, but the guard's expression gave no sign of anxiety, unlike the confused chatter behind them.

They heard it before they saw it—a rumbling like hushed thunder, then gashes of light tearing at their retinas as it slashed the darkness ahead. Blinking, Keith realized they reached the end of the tunnel, the roots shifting to form the exit. Dense tufts of fur—oh, the groundskeepers—scurried around the roots as they revealed an opening, chirruping all the while.

As soon as the roots settled, the guard stepped forward and led the procession through into the near-blinding light up the short path on the other side. Unlike their entrance to the tunnel, the ground rose at an incline to lead them towards the exit as they clambered out, crouching as they did so to avoid hitting their heads on the roots.

Eyes still adjusting, Keith stepped into a small room upon breaching the surface, its walls choked with roots. He swiftly followed the guard out into a hallway to escape the confined space. As the others piled out of the tunnel, he noticed that the hallway they were in looked awfully familiar.

The corridor curved slightly, and on the opposite wall were tall windows with glass so thick the garden beyond appeared warped. Under the windows, benches dotted along the wall every twenty feet or so.

If Keith didn't know any better, he'd say they'd arrived exactly where they started.

Before he could say anything, a thin figure in teal robes approached the group. With forward spiraling horns like porcelain and a pallor pale as moonlight, the alien smiled in greeting. The robes enveloped her, and Keith found himself worried the fabric was too heavy for her delicate frame.

“Welcome, everyone, to the Temple of the Three Deities under Nacem. I am Gothi Malyra, and I am happy we could assist in providing you safe passage on this beloved day. Please, follow me,” she said, gesturing with toothpick fingers down the hall.

Gothi Malyra and the guard spoke quietly to one another as they proceeded. Keith was curious if any of their conversation mentioned the Galra outside, but he couldn't catch much due to the continued conversation behind him. _Why are all these aliens so talkative?_ Keith grumbled to himself. _It's gotta be 'cause it's their wedding day_ , he thought with a roll of his eyes before it struck him that it was apparently his wedding day, too.

A jolt of nausea struck his gut. He hadn't lied when he told Lance he'd never been sick, but the nervous system had a funny way of reacting to things, like manifesting mental discomfort into physical queasiness.

_Just don't think about it. Don't think about it and you won't throw up._

_And even if you do, don't tell Lance._

Walking off anxiety wasn't a practical solution, but Keith was still willing to give it a shot, anyway.

 

* * *

 

The market had changed since their first expedition. Keith couldn't quite place how, but it felt... subdued. There was still a crowd meandering between the labyrinthine booths, occasionally taking refuge in the shade after extensive bartering with guilt-tripping merchants, but... the atmosphere simply felt muffled, like a storm brewing even without a single cloud in the sky.

It had Keith on edge, but the rest of the party seemed perfectly content as long as the Galra weren't in sight, which they weren't. Which Keith found mighty suspicious. The soldiers swarmed the marketplace earlier—they couldn't just disappear. Even if Coran said the Galra had organized themselves in the city since the paladins last saw them, it was strange for the populace to be so unperturbed. Something was off.

His concerns were brushed aside as inconsequential by the guards, who claimed the city had it under control, and reminded him they were present only for security—not as active bodyguards; they'd deal with any trouble that found them, but they certainly wouldn't go seeking it out. Besides, everything would be fine—they'd do their shopping and leave, and that was that. The temple's extra precautions were simply for their peace of mind.

Keith was about to give them a piece of his own mind when his communicator chimed insistently from his wrist. Sending one last scowl to the guards, he turned to seek a corner between several booths for him to answer in relative privacy.

Shiro's face popped up the instant he answered.

“Hey, it's just me, Keith. How're you holding up?”

“Never better,” Keith intoned.

“Wow, convincing.”

With an expression that was anything but a pout, Keith muttered, “Just... irritated, nothing important. What's going on?”

“Well, at the moment, a whole lotta nothing,” Shiro said with a sigh. “We found several options for a retrieval point, but Allura and Coran are arguing over which is the best choice. It was getting pretty heated, so we made them take a time-out to cool their heads.”

“I... don't think I've seen them argue like that before. How'd it get that bad?”

“The mice may have accidentally escalated the situation, and Coran's mustache might be a few hairs shy its former glory.”

Keith snorted. “Okay, and Hunk and Pidge?”

“They're running maintenance scans on the lions. I tried to help, but I mixed up a few tools, so... they suggested I sit this one out,” Shiro grumbled, a sulking tone creeping into his voice.

Keith chuckled. “Probably for the best.”

“I'm a decent mechanic!” Shiro insisted.

“You're a _passable_ mechanic, but the lions are a little more advanced than you're used to,” Keith teased.

“Oh, and I suppose you became a world-class engineer in the time I was gone?” he rebutted.

Keith shifted his eyes to the side, pursing his lips to answer, “Well, not exactly, but I can take care of myself.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Keith bit his tongue. Multiple instances sprung to mind from when he had to repair his hoverbike in the desert, but Shiro didn't need to know that. Keith didn't _want_ Shiro to know any of that—how long Keith had been squatting out in the desert and why—and Keith intended to keep it that way, at least until the pressure of saving the universe died down. Shiro was too frazzled after their initial rescue for Keith's life choices to be a focal point. (Keith also might have slipped in a few white lies when answering questions to avoid scrutiny. The shack definitely wasn't his uncle's, and he had certainly camped out there longer than a few weeks.)

That year had been difficult, and Keith didn't feel the need to burden anyone else with the personal issues he developed during that time. (It was a convenient justification, given how bad Keith was at opening up to others in the first place. He elected to ignore that detail.)

“Don't worry about it. Why'd you call, again?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at the evasive tactic, but went along with it for the time being.

“Just wanted to check in. You were attacked by a druid—are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Keith,” Shiro pressed, “are you sure?”

Rolling his eyes, Keith said, “Look, _I'm_ fine, _Lance_ is the one who—“

“Speaking of Lance,” Shiro interrupted. “Why are you so far away from him? Actually, why are you even outside the temple? Splitting up doesn't seem like the best idea from up here, Keith.”

_Wait, how does he—? Oh, right, the communicators have tracking devices..._

“It was a tactical decision,” Keith defended. “I wanted a better feel for the city, and the temple feels safer with a paladin of Voltron patrolling the area after the attack. It's a win-win.” At the latter half of his reasoning, he slipped a hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. It was relatively sound logic. Guilt nagged at him for lying, but he and Lance both wanted to keep the wedding situation under wraps; admitting he was buying engagement jewelry for his supposed betrothed was not the best way to keep their situation hush-hush.

“So you left Lance alone and unconscious?”

Keith shifted on his feet, averting his eyes.

“I didn't say it was perfect.”

Shiro sighed. “Look, Keith... I understand where you're coming from, but please try to get back to Lance as soon as you can. I don't like the idea of you two being separate like this.”

“Understood,” Keith conceded, glancing down.

Shiro frowned. “Keith, hey, c'mon—chin up,” he said. As Keith met his gaze, he smiled, saying, “You'll be outta there before you know it. A little patience goes a long way.”

Keith cracked a smile, replying, “Not my strong suit, but I'll try, Shiro.”

“I'll take it.”

Waving briefly, they ended the call, Keith sighing as soon as he could drop his wrist, his other hand digging into his hair. Shiro meant well, Keith knew that, but... _It's a little late to criticize my actions now when I'm already in the middle of it_ , he thought. _I can't just go back to the temple this instant—I have to find a token or whatever for Lance first. No way will they let me return without one._

Walking back out into the thrum of the market, he spied the shops his engaged companions frequented, taking in their large signs in foreign languages and bright colors. Many of the booths had displays with gems that sparkled under the twin suns—several reflections nearly blinding him.

Swallowing a sigh, he decided he might as well get started.

 

* * *

 

The excursion had gone on long enough for Keith to come to a single, solid conclusion.

Shopping sucked.

The others from the temple were trying to be helpful—really, they were, but none of their advice seemed suitable. When Keith began his search, he'd been under the impression that he didn't have much of an opinion in regards to jewelry for Lance. However, as evident by all of the suggestions he turned down, this presumption was very wrong.

Uwithyea tried coercing him to get Lance an anklet, and while Keith wanted to just make a choice and be done with it, he couldn't rationalize purchasing Lance an anklet when the blue paladin was always wearing pants, socks, shoes, or boots. Robe and slippers aside, his ankles were often covered. An anklet—or any jewelry on his lower body—was simply too impractical for a paladin of Voltron.

Hir'auld suggested a tiara such as the one he bought for his fiancée. Lance would love a tiara—surely!—and that was exactly why Keith couldn't buy it. Knowing how loud Lance's ego could be already, any sort of crown was simply asking for trouble. (Especially if he made any more embarrassing advances on the princess with it—Keith suppressed a frown at the thought.)

Zileahe proposed a ring, which Keith turned down in an instant. A ring was too close to their customs on Earth—he couldn't bear giving Lance an engagement ring. The symbolism weighed far too heavy for him to pass it off as nonchalant.

Mar continued advocating different piercings in between their recommendations. Keith ground his teeth. Shiro wasn't wrong in that a little patience could go a long way, but it definitely lasted longer when someone wasn't testing it.

“Hmm... what did Lance gift you again?” asked Zileahe, expression obscured by her hood that fell all the way over her face, only the briefest glimpses of her chin visible as she spoke. Mar was still hunting down his own prize, but the other three circled around Keith, intent on assisting their companion in finding the perfect token.

At Zileahe's request, Keith removed the pendant from his neck, holding it out for the others to see. Shoulders tight, he shifted the weight on his feet as they leaned forward to examine the crystal. He didn't like being at the center of attention like this; it was uncomfortable having so many eyes on his predicament. Their huddled placement in the center of the thoroughfare didn't help matters as other shoppers shuffled around them with a few pointed glares sent their way. Unfortunately, with how focused the group was on Keith's pendant, he was unable to coerce them to the side of the street.

Keith felt like shrinking. _If only..._

“Why, I'll be! Is that a vilamou crystal?” Hir'auld exclaimed after deliberation.

“Oh, how _romantic_...” Uwithyea murmured, pressing a hand to her cheek.

“Romantic?” Keith echoed dumbly before he could stop himself.

Zileahe snorted.

“But of course—you mean you don't know the meaning of the stone?” Uwithyea asked, shocked. “Your fiancé knew, though, surely!”

“I—I mean, maybe? I just, uh, thought it was... pretty?” Keith stumbled, wincing at himself.

Uwithyea tsk'ed, but there was a smile on her lips. Hir'auld elbowed her lightly, suggesting, “Maybe you should enlighten the boy.”

“It is beautiful, Keith,” Uwithyea started. “But do you know of its special properties?”

Keith glanced down at the crystal before replying, “I know _supposedly_ it can offer guidance.”

“Well, yes, guidance to what your heart desires most—and by giving you this crystal, your beloved was saying it guided him to you, that a future with you is what his heart desires most,” Uwithyea explained.

“The sentiment is very sweet,” commented Hir'auld.

Keith's face burst aflame.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, stumbling away from the circle.

Zileahe laughed. “He really didn't know! Oh, that's too cute!”

The blood pumping in his ears drowned out whatever else was said as Keith disappeared into the crowd, seeking someplace safe and _away_. His face burned with embarrassment at the very notion of Lance giving him something so heartfelt.

Because that was just it. The big _if_ that Keith couldn't help imagining. With how expressive Lance could be, Keith had no doubt he was a romantic sap at heart. _If_ Lance had feelings for someone, the crystal was an absolutely plausible gift for Lance to convey his emotions.

The idea of Lance sincerely giving him _anything_ felt... hopeful, like maybe they could actually be friends, after all.

Of course, this hope was completely crushed by two notions. One, Keith purchased the crystal himself. No amount of lying to the others about Lance giving Keith the pendant would change what actually happened. Two, the mere suggestion of Lance giving Keith anything other than grief was simply unheard of, much less jewelry with romantic implications.

But that _if_...

Caught up in the surge of conflicting emotions, Keith barely registered passing by Mar. The alien reached out to get his attention, but Keith ignored him and continued on. Mar's tone sounded like a warning, but _whatever_ , Keith thought. He could handle himself.

The onslaught of clamoring sensations tunneled Keith's vision as he made his way through the market, his peripherals blinded from noticing a distinctive splash of purple off to the side.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith ducked into a random tent that appeared relatively empty compared to its counterparts. It was dim inside, the dark blue fabric of the booth's walls dense enough to block out the majority of the light. The inside reminded him of Earth's night sky, the deep blue of the tent interrupted by rows of sparkling pinpricks of light as the shop's jewelry reflected the available light, and—

And wait a minute.

Keith had been here before.

He narrowed his eyes. Sure enough, the familiar shopkeeper with chameleon eyes and flatworm arms strode out from the back, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Good to see you again! I trust you've been well?” she greeted kindly.

Despite her warmth, Keith snapped, “I thought you said this crystal was meant for finding _opportunities!_ Not _romance!”_ He held up the crystal pointedly in his fist.

She blinked slowly before gasping. “Oh! Oh, _that—_ that's an exaggerated rumor of the crystal's capabilities, I'm afraid, and a very common one, too. A loose translation, really.”

Keith wrinkled his face. “So... it's _not_ leading me to-to love?”

She shook her head slowly, answering, “As I said before, it leads to the opportunities your heart desires most. If you desire romance, that's the direction it will go. If you desire something else, it will seek that instead.”

“I... I see,” said Keith, lowering the crystal, shame creeping up on him for his outburst.

“Was that all that was upsetting you?” she prodded gently.

Keith fumbled, “Um—yes—I mean, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to _accuse_ you like that, I just—“

The shopkeeper waved off his words with a shake of her head, assuring him, “Nevermind that—misunderstandings happen all the time. But since you're here, is there anything else I can help you find? And where's that _friend_ of yours?”

Keith frowned at her emphasis on “friend,” unsure of her implication.

“My _friend_... is actually why I'm here,” he mumbled. “I uh... I need to give him a token.”

“A token?” she questioned.

“Of-of my affection... like, jewelry, or something,” Keith answered vaguely, gesturing helplessly at the gems surrounding them. He could already feel his face reddening all over again.

Smiling wide, the shopkeeper said, “I think I can help you there.”

 

* * *

 

Allura took a deep breath before entering the bridge to center herself. She wasn't a child—she was a _princess—_ and she could do this. The mice were taking a well-deserved snack break (courtesy of Hunk, who happened to adore preparing their miniscule portions), and she was fully prepared to handle the situation before her. Nodding minutely to herself, she stepped forward...

...only to jump immediately back as the doors sprung open on their own.

“PRINCESS!” Coran yelled, his heels screeching to a halt before smacking into her, arms wheeling as he recovered his balance. Coughing into his fist as he regained his composure, he said, “Ahem, Princess Allura, there is something you should see on the monitor.”

A line already forming on her brow, Allura followed her advisor onto the bridge. Sweeping her gaze over the screen, she gasped.

“Coran, is that...?”

“A Galra battleship, Princess. Not Zarkon's, but still rather formidable.”

Finding the microphone, Allura sounded the alarm as her voice rang from the speakers across the castle. _“Paladins! To the bridge!”_

 

* * *

 

Keith was overwhelmed.

The shopkeeper presented him with more choices than he knew what to do with. Narrowing it down was quite a process that involved minor repetition as they ultimately ruled out rings, tiaras, anklets, bracelets, piercings, and several other styles that simply didn't suit humans, leaving them with necklaces. He knew he should just pick something and be done with it, but... he still wanted Lance to _like_ it.

“Hm, these all have a longer chain. What about something shorter?” the shopkeeper asked, bringing out a tray of choker-styled necklaces.

Keith was ready to dismiss the chokers as too feminine for the blue paladin, but his gaze lingered, despite himself. He zeroed in on one, in particular; the band was a thick stripe of deep blue, decorated in the center with a shallow gem resembling the cross between an opal and a pearl, framed by ornate silver filigree. Before he knew it, he reached out to touch it, rubbing the soft, stretchy fabric between his fingers as the gemstone shimmered with translucent fire.

 _At least the band will cover those bruises of his. If he never wears it afterward, that's fine_ , Keith reasoned, a tiny lump in his throat at the thought.

“This one,” he said, voice soft.

The shopkeeper nodded happily, removing the choker in question from the tray as she returned the others to their proper display. Keith gauged the weight of his gift in his hand. Physically, it was relatively light, but the intimacy of the gesture weighed on his mind. The number of gifts he'd given others was remarkably low—not because he didn't want to, but he'd never had much to give and even fewer potential recipients. Shiro was the last person to receive a gift from Keith, a “Congrats on being selected for Kerberos!” present, which was almost two years ago now.

Knowing it wouldn't seem nearly as significant to Lance left a sour taste in his mouth, so Keith shoved a lid on that pot of emotions. In an attempt to distance himself, he remembered that he'd basically been pressured into the situation. Getting Lance a gift wasn't by choice (even if the gift itself was). He shouldn't get worked up over circumstances out of his control (even if he had other options).

Sighing quietly, Keith slid the choker into his pocket when he heard a ruckus growing from the market. He paused as raucous shouts and numerous footfalls reached his perked ears in a steady crescendo, words indistinct but voices clearly trouble.

_That's not the sound of shoppers... Could it be soldiers? Or druids? ...Was I spotted in the market?_

_I need to get back to Lance._

Nerves on alert, his eyes swiveled to meet the shopkeeper's, whose expression was equally wide-eyed as they heard glass crash at a nearby tent among the din.

_I'm out-numbered if I go out there. I don't—_

Nearly inhaling his own tongue, Keith started, “Can I—“

“ _Hide_ ,” she ordered in a harsh whisper. She hurried to a table in the far back, gesturing in quick, repetitive motions. His feet moved faster than his brain, instinctively crossing the tent in long strides. She lifted the corner of a long tablecloth for him to hunch under.

The cloth had dropped and barely settled in place when a beam of light poured in from outside. Keith held his breath. An inch or so from the floor was visible beneath the cloth; he prayed it was enough.

“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper asked plainly.

“Oh, I hope so,” said the newcomer in an amused tone. “The last few shops I visited were no help at all. Then again, given how _messy_ they all were—really, disastrous shape—I'm sure they had plenty to attend to...”

The comment was punctuated by clattering rings knocked from their perches. Keith glowered. _What a fucking bully... He's definitely a Galra soldier. If it was a druid, I would've felt that awful aura again._

“What are you looking for?” asked the shopkeeper, voice flat.

“I'm looking for someone who was last seen heading in this direction. About yea high with dark hair and light skin, wearing red. Seen anyone like that?”

 _Shit, so someone_ did _see me._

Biting his lip, Keith shifted as quietly as he could into a crouching position, ready to spring if needed. Hiding was great except for the complete lack of a visual on the situation.

“I haven't seen hardly anyone all day—it's been very slow with you lot in town,” she answered.

“What about the folk you did see? Anyone match the description?”

The question was adorned with a staccato clinking as the stranger ran a rough hand over the table display, rattling the jewelry. The threat had Keith clenching his teeth in anger. Even if he hadn't been in this tent, the scene would play the same. Keith was reminded of Hunk's outrage on the Balmera as he felt the stirrings of righteous fury at the Galra's injustice in the pit of his gut.

“Can't say I have.”

“Shame,” the stranger said with a short sigh.

If another word was said in the following moment, Keith missed it as all he could hear was a shower of precious gems smashing to the ground—the table overturned.

“That's enough! _Get out of my shop!_ ”

Another display crashed.

Cold electricity flooded Keith's blood with adrenaline.

“Sorry, couldn't hear you. It's a bit loud in here, don't you think? You should get that looked at.”

Another.

Keith ground his teeth. _Enough!_

Lurching from beneath the table, Keith leaped at the Galra soldier—tall with thin armor—his untransformed bayard in hand. Between the flurry of crashing crystals and shocked surprise on the soldier's face, Keith had no problem slamming the blunt edge of his bayard against the enemy's head.

Barely able to choke out a cough, the Galra collapsed to the floor, bayard vibrating from the force of the strike in Keith's hand. He kicked the soldier without much force. When it didn't react, he squatted as he determined his enemy was merely stunned unconscious—not dead. He let out a shaky exhale as he stood. Fighting and incapacitating enemy soldiers was fine, but he had yet to come to terms with potentially killing them.

Looking up, he surveyed the damage. The store was a wreck. Crystals littered the floor in glittering clumps as the shopkeeper tended to righting the tables and gathering the fallen wares scattered in every direction.

“Thank you. I'm sorry about... this...” Keith trailed off, weakly gesturing at the destruction. The shopkeeper nodded her understanding.

“Think nothing of it—worse would have happened if you weren't here. And I'd hate to give into the Empire's demands for anything. But you—“ She paused, fixing him with a sharp stare from one eye. “—you better find your friend.”

Keith couldn't agree more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep imagining Hunk making the mice tiny gourmet meals and it's just the cutest fucking thing


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see, guys! i would've had this chapter out sooner, but i decided to participate in a klance secret santa exchange, and it was a lotta fun! but uh... yeah, i can't work on multiple projects at the same time. straight up does not work, as it turns out.  
> (for anyone interested, i wrote a soulmate au and i think it's pretty cute)
> 
> lol this fic gets less canon compliant with every season, but i'm stoked for s5 all the same!! :D
> 
> a big thank you to tumblr users cool-dad-squad and southwesterndjinn because omg, this fic would not be the same without their support <3

The zipline whistled sharp in Shiro's ears as he flew down the chute toward his lion. The Galra battleship was undoubtedly an unwelcome sight while they were two paladins short. They briefly debated waiting and gathering intel, but the moment they saw a transporter ship launch toward the planet’s surface, the team dove into action. Neither Keith or Lance were answering their communicators, and if their safety had been compromised, Voltron couldn’t risk letting that transporter get away.

Their plan focused around Pidge interrupting the transporter and sleuthing out the Galra’s objective. If Keith and Lance were in immediate danger from the Galra, this would be their easiest shot at obtaining information. Pidge would fly in cloaked while Shiro and Hunk covered her as needed. Meanwhile, the Alteans would continue trying to reach the grounded paladins.

_Hang on, guys_ , Shiro thought as he dropped into the pilot seat. _We’re coming._

 

* * *

 

Upon leaving the jeweler’s booth, Keith exited through the rear to escape via the back street for merchants. It was practically an alleyway—narrower than the main path since it saw less foot traffic—and Keith constantly found himself dodging odds and ends that piled up next to the backsides of the tents, which mostly entailed stacked crates, propped scooters, and miscellaneous trash waiting to be thrown out. Everything was colored dull and dingy, a stark contrast to the bright hues decorating the stores and their displays.

The alley was an effective means of escape; the Galra hadn’t delved any deeper into the market yet, and there were far fewer people around to see and recognize him. In fact, he hadn’t seen anyone at all.

There was really only one problem with taking the back way.

Keith was so, _so_ lost.

He knew he started in the right direction, but the main road and the back street didn’t run precisely parallel and he couldn’t spy any familiar landmarks to guide him to either of the temples. The alley made slight turns as it went on, and Keith became disoriented, his mental map in complete disarray.

Pausing, he took a few deep breaths to steady his building nerves. Dealing with everything else thus far—from their initial run-in with the Galra to the fight with the Druid—hadn’t been so bad with Lance there.

But now they were separated, and it wasn’t even so much Keith’s fault as it was his _decision_ , which carried a whole other weight. A heavier one.

_Remember: patience yields focus_ , Keith thought, steeling his resolve. He would find his way back to Lance, and that was final.

It was at that moment Keith heard a shout behind him, followed by a _wha-bam_ as several crates toppled over. Spinning around, he saw someone had been thrown out the back of a tent, their body collapsed amid a heap of rubble.

Not even seconds later, a purple head peeked out after it. Keith unsheathed his bayard, settling automatically into an open stance with his feet shoulder-width apart and knees bent.

The Galra turned, noticing the sole onlooker. Recognition yanked its face agape, a surprised “ _You!_ ” filling the alley in an echoing bellow. Shoved from behind, two more purple heads followed as the first stumbled forward.

Keith paused to evaluate his odds.

Turning tail, he started running.

 

* * *

 

“What do you _mean_ 'two of them are missing?'” Priest Uheika snapped. “ _How?_ ”

The guard flinched over the comm, sputtering, “The Empire's soldiers swarmed the market while they were still shopping, and we just lost track of them while herding the others to safety!”

“One of you couldn't watch the four you had while the other looked for your missing charges?”

“Um, that is... you see—I think you're underestimating the number of soldiers out here, ma'am.”

Uheika couldn't decide if the guard's fumbling or fidgeting was more annoying as she strained to remind herself that she was a professional and would conduct herself as such. Inhaling deeply, she ordered, “Take the four to Malyra's temple; they should be safe there while both of you search for the other two.”

“Understood,” the guard accepted, nodding eagerly.

“Now who is missing?”

“Well, the human ran off a while ago.”

“Keith? The Galra are after him and his fiance—be careful,” she warned with a frown. The situation could easily get out of hand with the Empire running amok. “Who else?”

“The Piwrian—the pink one—was worried and went after the human. Haven't heard from him since.”

Uheika blinked.

“Mar?”

 

* * *

 

Keith ran, sprinting where he could and leaping where he had to as he focused on keeping his breathing steady. He hadn't run like this since he escaped the Garrison. With no crowd to get lost in, he made an easy target.

The Galra were converging on him, coming out of the woodwork at every turn. None had caught up to him, but Keith had a bad feeling, all the same. Several forks in the road had appeared, but he inevitably spotted soldiers posted further down one of the options, forcing him to take the other. He felt akin to a rat in a maze as they herded him further into the alien labyrinth toward whatever destination they had in mind.

If the shops were made with a sturdier material than fabric, he'd climb up the numerous crates and run along the roofs to jump down the other side, but as it was, that wasn't an option. He also considered borrowing a random scooter, but the Galra were right on his tail and if he paused even a moment, they'd be on him in no time flat.

Picking up the pace, Keith kept his eyes open for a stray exit and prayed he could evade their closing trap.

 

* * *

 

“How's it going, Pidge!?” Shiro called, forcing Pidge to wince at the volume.

She didn't respond right away. Her position at the moment was somewhat precarious as she propped herself up at the edge of an air vent near the ceiling. One last drone to incapacitate, and then she could maneuver freely. It maintained communication operations for the ship; once she took it out, access to the ship's records would be hers for the taking.

Wetting her lips, she waited _one... two... three..._ and dropped from her vantage point to land securely on the drone's shoulders. A swift _zap_ from her bayard and its circuits were toast, leading to their subsequent tumble to the floor. Once back on her feet, she began dragging it toward the console, knowing she'd need the Galra DNA signature encoded in its hand to get into the system.

The lion's cloaking hadn't lasted long after she boarded the transporter, leaving Green vulnerable to attack. Hunk and Shiro were prepared for offensive action from the battleship, which deployed fighter units once it cottoned on to Voltron's interference. They had probably covered Pidge for a solid fifteen minutes by now, more or less.

“Yeah, anything yet?!” Hunk yelled into the comm.

“Getting there,” she replied curtly, the tip of her tongue pinched between her teeth as she focused on plugging in her encryption hardware.

Time seemed to drag on while she loaded the proper programs and coinciding files, her fingers tapping her knee erratically while she waited. She knew that logistically, it wasn't taking that long to retrieve the info, but with her friends fighting to keep her safe, every second she sat there was a second too many. The burden of the ticking clock even curbed her desire to use this opportunity to search for her family. (Because while the temptation was ever present, Pidge was learning to prioritize, and it was unlikely she'd find that kind of information on a minor ship like this one, anyway.)

Finding the ship log was easy, and hacking into it wasn't nearly as difficult as her previous endeavors in accessing Galra tech. Skimming the translations, she looked for the most recent entries and punched in a keyword search for “paladin,” glasses gleaming from the steady flashes of the screen as her fingers categorized the information as quick as her eyes.

Shiro buzzed on the comm, “I hate to rush you, Pidge, but find anything?”

She bit her lip. There was just so much information to parse through and she read code faster than words, she couldn't possibly—

Her eyes caught on a line.

“Pidge!”

“Um, y-yeah...” she mumbled, rereading. “How'd we miss that...?”

“What? What is it? What'd you find?” Hunk asked.

“Guys,” Pidge said, “this is the second ship they've sent to the planet.”

“Oh-kayyyy,” Hunk dragged out. “I get that's surprising and I don't know how we didn't see it in the first place, but what's the _actual_ significance here, Pidge?”

“I—I'm not sure yet. Uh, does the name Haggar ring a bell to anyone?”

“Haggar?” Hunk echoed, but it was nearly lost in the roar that overcame the line from Shiro.

“ _Haggar's_ down there?! That _witch?!_ ”

 

* * *

 

“Screw this,” Keith muttered. The Galra were gaining on him. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he was captured. Sure, he could stand his ground and fight, but the soldiers easily outnumbered him.

No ideal exit just meant he had to make one.

Pivoting sharply, he flung himself to the right through the next tent. Fortunately, it was empty, but the shelves weren't arranged in a straightforward manner. He tried avoiding the displays of metal contraptions and doodads, but several were definitely knocked aside, clinging and clanging as he shoved his way through.

A dozen heads swiveled toward him at his noisy exit as a single metallic sphere rolled out with him. Half of them were Galra. Briefly assessing that no one was in any immediate danger (aside from himself), Keith was off like a shot down the street, eyes flickering on high alert.

_If I can just find a landmark—anything!_

Shouts from Galra soldiers echoed behind him, but Keith had an established lead now. Their pursuit was utterly disheveled compared to the organized herding in the alley. He could hardly relax, but the distance certainly made breathing easier. His lungs burned with exertion.

The streets were emptier in this direction. As in, barren. Keith wasn't sure if this was good or bad news, but there was no way to know. The architecture changed as he continued. He encountered fewer tents as buildings stood in their stead. The structures weren't especially tall—only a few stories, at most. They appeared to be made of thick mud, except the tree groves—the same trees they saw everywhere they looked—were incorporated into the very framework of the structures like bones.

A small pang of nostalgia hit him in the chest as he compared them to the adobe styled homes he remembered back on Earth. The memory tasted like a sour candy—faintly sweet but coated in an acidic tang. Part of him wondered if this was how the others experienced homesickness.

Shaking his head, he kept moving, slowing from a desperate sprint to a strong jog. The notion that he could compare his own brand of homesickness to that of the other paladins was ridiculous. It just wasn't the same. Homesickness was feeling the absence of a stable, safe, loving environment. They all had families and homes to miss. As for Keith?

Well, he couldn't miss something he never had.

But he _wanted_. He wanted terribly for a home—a family, and Voltron was beginning to fulfill that want. Maybe it was due to the mind-melding properties of the robots or the constant life-or-death situations the war exposed them to, but the team was growing closer all the time even with the social hiccups.

Keith still had his reservations. Trust didn't come easy to him, but Voltron... gave him hope. It was absolutely terrifying to have that hope, yet Keith was already on the verge of protecting it with his life.

That also terrified Keith—the level of dedication he already committed to their cause, despite still absorbing its scale.

An upcoming fork in the road forced Keith out of his musings, and he gratefully latched onto the distraction from his thoughts. He could still hear the Galra in the distance behind him, but he'd secured a solid gap between them after his initial escape.

Upon reaching the fork, his gut suggested left.

Keith went left.

Again, the architecture shifted as he continued. The city was more industrial here with walls of imposing metal slabs rising, flat erect surfaces with few windows or blemishes. Keith frowned at the neighborhood's aura—it was unwelcome, uncaring territory.

Galra territory.

He heard chatter around the next bend, and he reduced his pace at the sound, slowing to peek around the corner. A group of soldiers gathered idly up ahead, gossiping amongst themselves. Before Keith could be spotted, he ducked into a narrow alley.

Luckily, the alley was empty.

Unluckily, it led to a dead end.

The space between the buildings was slim, the walls looming as they closed in. Unlike industrial areas on Earth, there were no pipes or wires or any visible sign of activity. _Not even a dumpster_ , Keith thought as he came to the conclusion that this single alleyway was one of the least human environments he'd encountered on their journey across the universe.

He wandered to the corner with the intent to take a breather and plan his next move. Instead, he noticed a thin vertical bar hooking from the far end of the alley. Looking closer, he discovered it to be the handle of a door—however minimal.

Sighing to himself in resignation to his limited options, Keith tugged the handle without much hope. His eyes widened at finding it unlocked, and he slipped inside.

He wound up in a dark hallway, barely lit by a string of violet lights glowing along the junction of the walls to the floor. Keith's eyes adjusted quickly as he wandered further into the building, which was unnervingly plain. No decoration, no signs, nothing. The inside was as austere as the exterior.

Eventually, he came upon a sliding door, although it wasn't automatic. Spying a lock to the side, Keith figured _what the hell_ and placed his palm flat upon the scanner surface. It buzzed briefly before lighting up around his hand. Satisfied, it gave a quiet _ding_ as the door slid open.

Keith blinked at his hand. _Huh._

He took slow steps forward as he entered, a short antechamber preceding the main event, which opened up to a large, round chamber with a vaulted dome of a ceiling. The inside stunned the paladin as his eyes took in rows and rows stacked upon one another of a strange golden liquid sloshing about in ovular containers. A single druid maintained them, strolling alongside the large tubes and seemingly checking readings on the holographic screens accompanying the liquid samples.

As captivating as the scene was, Keith simply didn't have time for it. He wanted to snag a souvenir for the others to analyze, but all of the tubes were locked in place and none were a particularly portable size. Looking around, he caught sight of another door—this one with a glowing sign above. He couldn't read Galran, but he hoped it meant “exit.”

Glued to the back wall in the shadows, Keith sneaked over to the door, his torso low as he made his way across the room. The druid didn't mind him one bit, apparently caught up in its work.

The door opened easy enough, but Keith heard the soft click of a lock behind him as it shut, leaving him in another hallway. Light from the outside crept between the cracks of the door a short distance from him. Although he wished he had time to divulge this building's secrets, Keith couldn't wait to be outside again and away from anything and everything Galra.

The instant he stepped back out into the blinding sunlight, fuzzy electricity clamped around his wrists and ankles in an unrelenting violet grip.

“Let go!” he shouted, eyes burning as they sought out the enemy.

An empty market square faced him, several streets off-shooting from a flowerbed full of yellows and pinks in the center. He would have found it pretty, were it not for the lone druid staring him down with blazing yellow eyes. The dark-robed figure was hunched over, allowing long gray hair to fall forward from the hood. Chills ran up Keith's spine as he held onto his outrage. This druid was different than the one he faced before; the aura was older—near ancient, it felt—and malicious, too.

Voice low and raspy, she said, “I was waiting for Sergeant Nizpal to bring you to me, but this works just as well.” She turned away, pulling out a communicator and speaking into it, “Sergeant, call off the hunt. I have what I came for.”

Keith grit his teeth, baring them in a scowl as she approached him. He tugged at the magic restraints to no avail, the electricity bristling against his skin.

“Paladin... do you know who I am?” she asked, coming to a stop barely several feet in front of him.

“I know you stole Shiro's arm.”

Well, he didn't _know_ , but it was a strong guess based on what Shiro shared with him.

“ _Wrong_ ,” she hissed. “The _arena_ took the Champion's arm. _I_ crafted him a new one.”

And that confirmed it. _Haggar_.

Keith scoffed, “So what, am I supposed to be thankful or some shit?”

She ignored him, asking instead, “Paladin, do you know who _you_ are...?”

The question caught him off-guard, his eyes widening in surprise before grunting, “You say that as if you know better than me.”

A smirk growing on her face, she asked, “Do you know you're fighting for the wrong side?”

“I know you're full of shit,” he answered, spitting at her feet.

She drew closer, stating, “You, Paladin, have Galra blood in your veins.”

Keith froze.

_Galra...?_

She continued, “Did you know? That you have a family, a _home_ with us? You have a heritage, a culture rich with history, with power—a place where you _belong?_ ”

“I belong with Voltron!” Keith snapped, tamping down the revulsion swirling inside him.

“And Voltron belongs to Zarkon,” Haggar crooned. “Just like _you_.”

“You're _lying!_ ” Keith snarled.

Haggar's eyes flashed. The restraints shocked his nerves, lightning tendrils creeping alongside his bones with increasing intensity, the label “Galra” branding his mind like hot iron. A cry escaped before Keith could reel it in.

Haggar laughed—a harsh, grating sound that echoed in the empty square. It rang in his eardrums with incessant vibrations as the sunlight suddenly seemed too bright—burning radiant and searing his retinas. He shut his eyes, trying to block out anything and everything as it all became too much _too much._

Until the laughter stopped with a _thud_.

The restraints vanished, leaving Keith to stumble as he regained his balance, his breath shaky as his blood rushed to hush the static in his veins. Blinking his eyes open, he looked up. Haggar lay in a collapsed heap, appearing as nothing more than a harmless pile of loose laundry, her aura diminished with her consciousness. Standing behind her was a barely visible figure which kept flickering—no, gesturing—at him with wild abandon.

“C'mon, c'mon, let's _go!”_

Still struggling to process _no that's not a pink ghost_ , Keith asked, “...Who are you?”

“Are you _kidding_ m— _whatever_ , it's Mar, _let's go_ ,” he stressed, reaching to grasp Keith's wrist to yank him along behind him. “The temple's not far but we have to _move_ before the Empire catches on!”

“Catches on to _what?”_

“Oh, I dunno—the fact that I just brained their priestess and snatched their hostage? Let's _go!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Hunk breathed a sigh of relief as the Green Lion's eyes lit up, signaling Pidge's return to the cockpit. He and Shiro managed to hold off the Galra fighters, but with another lion in the mix, they could wipe out the fleet without a second thought.

“Shouldn't we destroy that transporter now, guys?” Hunk asked as the Green Lion leaped from the ship.

“No need,” Pidge answered, tone smug. “I damaged their fuel line and adjusted their monitoring systems. And Green smashed their comm receiver.”

“Nice work, Pidge!” Shiro said.

Hunk loosed a low whistle, following with an eager, “So what's the plan now? Swoop down and rescue the paladins in distress?”

“We can't leave the Castle undefended,” Shiro reminded him. “Once we take care of these fighters, then we'll sort out our rescue.”

With a reluctant grumble, Hunk agreed, “Yeah, okay...”

Pidge yelled, “Hunk, look out!”

Two fighters locked on to Yellow, speeding toward him head on as their lasers charged.

“Oh no you don't!” Hunk yelped, pulling up on the controls to dodge. Targeting the enemies with his own cannon, he cried, “Eat this!”

If they had to destroy a Galra fleet before rescuing their friends, so be it. Hunk was ready to save their team.

 

* * *

 

“How'd you find me?” Keith asked as they rushed through the city streets, heart pumping and mind whirling. Mar held his hand so that his body's transparency extended to Keith, both of them flickering like half-shadows. They stuck to side streets, steering clear of the main roads Keith wound up taking before. “And how do you know your way around so well?”

Mar gave him a peculiar look before turning his attention back to their surroundings, saying, “I live here, Keith. And honestly? I was just following the Galra. Then I noticed the Druids were roaming around and it gave me a bad feeling. I mean, you know how close they are to the Empire, right? Serious bad news, so I went to check on their—headquarters? Ugh, I hate calling it a temple when they're a cult—and then I ran into you.”

Keith frowned. “Was I that close to them?”

Barking out a laugh, Mar said, “You were right outside their door! A side door, mind, but yeah, you really were that close.”

“Oh...” Keith mumbled, reconciling the inside of that building as Druid headquarters. He thought they were a religious sect, but that place felt... unholy. He understood why Mar wasn't comfortable calling it a temple; it was in no way a spiritual space.

“Did you go inside at all? What'd you see? And what'd that priestess want with you, anyway?”

Images of the dark hallways and golden tubes flashed through his mind before being overwhelmed by the witch laughing, laughing, _laughing._ His chest clenched, as if bracing for the strain on his heart to come rushing back.

He bit his tongue, staring pointedly at the haphazard tents as they returned to the marketplace in an effort to focus on the present. The air was warm and dry, his feet hitting the ground in a steady one-two beat. His lungs were sore, but since it gave his mind something bodily to cling to, he didn't mind.

“I'm not sure what I saw,” he said quietly, averse to reliving his experience even in his head, much less out loud.

Before Mar could inquire further, they overheard a familiar voice around the corner. Briefly making eye contact, they rounded the bend where they discovered the temple guards interrogating several shoppers.

Mar dropped his invisibility to get their attention, waving an arm wildly while greeting, “Friends! Get us home?”

 

* * *

 

“Gothi Malyra, what can I do for you?” greeted Uheika, nerves wringing in her gut at the potential bad news.

“Priest Uheika,” the Gothi acknowledged with a delicate nod, her horns glinting in the light. “Your party is returning via the tunnels now. Everyone has been accounted for.”

Uheika's shoulders relaxed instantly with a murmured “ _Thank Pona_.” At Malyra's subtle, knowing smile, she continued, “To say I'm relieved would be an understatement. Thank you for your assistance. I appreciate hearing from you, given that I have not heard word from my own security team yet.”

“It was nothing. Also, your team wished for me to contact you, as they decided their attentions would be better spent on their charges.”

_Good, they learned something,_ Uheika thought, saying aloud, “I'm glad to hear it. We remain in your debt, Gothi Malyra. Please allow us to assist you the next time we are able.”

Shaking her head, Malyra replied, “Please, Uheika, the three branches must stay strong together. If one temple falls, the others will follow soon after. Regardless of which of the three deities we follow, we must support each other in order to overcome the trials we face.”

“You are right,” said Uheika, smiling. “Still, thank you.”

Nodding, Malyra replied, “Until we meet again.”

“Until then.”

 

* * *

 

Keith hung back at the rear of the group this time as they made their way through the tunnel between the temples. At first, the others fretted and fawned over him and Mar the instant they returned. The attention made Keith uncomfortable, and Mar cordially pushed them away. (“Let him breathe,” he said. “We'll tell the tale at the next meal in front of everyone—it'll be great, promise.”)

Mar maintained conversation with them, allowing Keith his much-needed space, which was great because...

_Galra._

The very word felt slimy in his mouth, sticking to his gums like an aftertaste he couldn't spit out. Forming a fist at his side, he rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

_I mean, I've known I wasn't... completely human. But—Galra? Of all possible alien races, I had to be Galra?_

Memories tumbled in his head. Keith sifted through them, turning them over and peering for signs he hadn't noticed or understood in the past. He remembered interacting with Galra technology—both on the Balmera and even more recently in the Druids' lair—and he wondered about the knife from his mother, made from a material no one could identify on Earth. He thought about his father and his non-answers to Keith's anomalies—like why he alone escaped the pink eye outbreak in kindergarten, or why it took a full day of desert sun for his skin to get even a lick of color.

Or why he was so bad at making friends.

Was his lacking humanity why he had such a hard time connecting with others?

Shiro was more than accommodating of his lacking social graces. Pidge could be prickly, but she got along with him fine once they spent some time together. Hunk was great—probably the easiest for Keith to understand, given his straightforward nature—as long as Lance wasn't around to cheer on.

Because Lance was something else, and Keith couldn't understand _why_.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced himself to take a deep breath. Just because he wasn't _all_ human didn't take away his humanity entirely. Besides, Allura and Coran were wholly not-human, and the team never accused them of being anything more or less than their human counterparts.

_But Alteans and Galra are different_ , he reminded himself. _I know the team would accept me as part-alien, sure, but if that part is Galra? I don't know what they'll think._

_I don't even know what_ I _think._

“You doin' alright?” Mar asked, having fallen back from the group.

“Yeah, just... a lot to process,” Keith said, unwilling to divulge much.

Mar hummed in response. Silence stretched for several moments before he interrupted with, “So what kinda token did you get your beloved? He must be pretty particular, with how hard you looked.”

In answer, Keith merely retrieved the choker from his pocket and held it out. A surprise greeted him as the gemstone glowed dimly in his palm, faintly lighting up the dark.

Instead of taking the proffered choker from him, Mar simply reached for Keith's hand to hold it higher for a closer look. His touch was gentle as he admired the gem, releasing Keith's hand with a smile.

“Lovely,” he commented. “It suits him.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled, carefully returning it to his pocket. “What did you get?”

“My darling is a fan of piercings,” Mar said, pulling out a small box in his hand. Popping it open, Keith saw inside was a small jewel, perfectly round with a metallic, reflective surface. Hints of color tinged the piercing, but none overwhelmed its smooth shine.

“What kind is it?” Keith asked, unable to tell at first glance.

“For her tongue,” Mar answered. “She brings so much brightness to my life—it's a representation of love tinting her every word. Her every syllable is precious to me.”

So much love radiated from Mar's smitten expression, Keith felt the need to look away. He was gazing on an emotion far too private.

“It's beautiful,” Keith said, not sure what else to say.

“Thank you,” said Mar, putting the box away. “We've been looking forward to this day for a long time—Palentine's Day only occurs once a year, and I don't know how familiar you are with our planet, but our years are comparatively longer than most. The days are long, the nights are short, and the years take forever.”

Their conversation paused as Keith pulled together a response, finally saying, “I'm glad today is finally here for both of you.”

“Me, too, Keith. Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

Lance yawned awake, eyes cracking open one at a time. Blearily, he took in his surroundings as the sunlight beamed through the half-open skylight.

The first thing he noticed was how well-rested he felt. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but it felt like he'd been knocked out for a week, minimum.

The second thing he noticed was Keith was nowhere in sight.

Honestly, it was unsurprising to Lance that Keith didn't stick around for his sleeping companion. Still, Lance wanted to know if anything new had cropped up in his unconscious absence, and Keith would be his best source for relevant information, especially if their team had made any plans regarding their rescue.

Sitting up with another yawn, he twisted to crack his back. His neck ached as he stretched, but it was dulled considerably by the painkillers. Wondering if any of his teammates left him a message on his communicator, he reached over to near his shoes to procure it, his fingertips brushing the surface uselessly a few times before securing it in his grasp.

Lance jumped as the device burst to life in his hands, spontaneously playing hot potato as it vibrated between his palms with an incoming call from the Castle.

He answered once his heartbeat steadied, Allura's image sprouting before him.

“Lance!” she cried, eyes wide in surprise.

Smirking, he replied, “Miss me that much already? Princess, I'm touched.”

Her expression quickly deflated, enthusiasm lost as she huffed, “Good to know you're alright.”

“Er, yeah?” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Sighing, she answered, “I suppose we were simply worried. Neither of you were answering our calls, and a Galra battleship appeared.”

“A battleship?!”

She nodded, continuing, “It sent a transporter to the planet's surface, so we intercepted in case the Galra captured you. Luckily, that didn't happen. The battleship deployed some fighters, and the others are taking care of them now.”

“Huh...” Lance uttered, trying to absorb everything. “Wait, so why wasn't Keith answering your calls?”

“That's what I'd like you to find out. Shiro said something about him patrolling the city, but I've got a bad feeling about it. It looks like he's just returning to the temple now. I'd feel better if you both called us once you've regrouped.”

“Whoa, he left the temple?!”

“Yes, it seems so. Please rejoin him, the sooner the better.”

“You got it, Princess,” Lance said with a swift salute. The call ended then, and Lance took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. What was Keith thinking? Surely he had his reasons, but Lance couldn't piece them together for the life of him.

Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he decided to pull himself together, maybe find some alien coffee, and hunt down the red paladin.

But first, a whiz.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out the past tense of "sneak" is not "snuck"   
> revelations occurred during this chapter, guys

**Author's Note:**

> deep-fried oreos are my greatest weakness right next to klance  
> (and comments ;D )


End file.
